


The Treasure of Witches

by Thornvale



Series: Beyond the Black Veil [1]
Category: Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Angst, Blood and Injury, Comedy, Death, Depression, Don’t Post to Other Sites, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Forced Relationship, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, Magic, Master & Servant, Moral Dilemmas, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Pregnancy, Repression, Self Confidence Issues, Temporary Character Death, Violence, Witchcraft, too dark for disney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-01-23 23:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 77,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21328156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornvale/pseuds/Thornvale
Summary: ‘A single raven was just a raven. A group of ravens was called an unkindness. He had not known true unkindness until becoming a human, however, and even then, he had always known better. Diaval knew Maleficent better than anyone, and he’d thought, however foolishly, that they might have been friends after all they had endured together.’Some time after Aurora’s wedding, Diaval struggles with his place in the Moors and Maleficent’s life. When the Phoenix Emerald, a precious heirloom of the Dark Fae, is stolen by the mysterious Moon Witch, the raven servant finds himself in a position to recover it - but at a great cost.Featuring an illustration byswankkatin chapter 6!
Relationships: Diaval/Maleficent (Disney)
Series: Beyond the Black Veil [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597402
Comments: 388
Kudos: 622





	1. A New Life

Most considered Diaval a simple creature.

True, he had hatched from an egg among his brothers and sisters and mindlessly squawked for food at the beginning of his life. He had been bald and blind, begging for worms. He had grown into a common raven and was about as intelligent as a raven could be, which was perhaps more intelligent than most animals though not quite as blessed in the cerebral sphere as humans and faeries. When he was turned into a human for the first time, much of that changed: he was suddenly capable of many new emotions and thoughts, he could speak language and even fully understand it, and he gained a true sense of self. An identity. Just like that. 

He had been a human. A horse. A wolf. A bear. Even a _ dragon. _He understood what it was to be all of those things, he could feel the residual strength deep in his muscles, there-but-not-quite. He remembered how it was to be able to breathe fire - in fact he dreamed of it, sometimes. He dreamed of what it was to be able to fly with wings great enough to leave storms in their wake. He could feel that power there in his much smaller, less capable raven wings, and was unable to act upon it. He remembered clearly all the forms he had taken, all the things that they had made him feel and learn. 

To everyone else, he was only a servant. Less of a person and more of a means to an end.

He wasn’t the sort to really mind. After all, he had pledged himself into that position out of a sincere gratitude and an acknowledgement that the woman responsible was a far greater being than he could ever be. He had stayed in that position despite having long served his sentence, because out of it he had gained so much and he was not willing to let that go. Truth be told, he still was not entirely capable of thinking of himself as anything other than a servant, no matter how vast his experiences were. Diaval was a simple creature, even to Diaval himself. So long as he had his family, he had everything that he wanted. 

But things were different after the Battle of Ulstead.

Aurora spent only half her time in the Moors, now. It was understandable, of course. She had a husband who was prince of a neighbouring kingdom and they were expecting a family of their own. Her belly grew bigger and rounder each passing day and it was becoming more difficult and dangerous for her to travel between kingdoms. Diaval accompanied her every time she did travel so that she might have a friendly, familiar face as her guard - and also because it was part of his duty to protect her, his wee fledgling and daughter of Maleficent. He travelled proudly by her side, despite the lingering mistrust the castle guards regarded him with. He was used to that. 

Maleficent, too, only spent half her time in the Moors - or at least, the parts of it _ this _side of the sea. She had a family of her own, now, too, only she didn’t need Diaval like Aurora did. Maleficent was Guardian of the Moors and had also inherited the great power of the matriarch of the Dark Fae - the Phoenix. She was a staple of their society and would protect them as she had always protected the Moorfolk, flying between worlds with her great, beautiful wings with the children of the Fae following close behind. She had always had a soft spot for children.

Diaval was left in the Moors as a human most of the time, the reason being that he might be of more use to Aurora. It was good in that he had arms and hands and that he could properly look after her and guard her in Maleficent’s frequent absence. It was bad in that he could not fly, and that he was starting to feel as though the purpose of his creation was waning, somewhat. But that was a human thought. Worry and perhaps even jealousy were not things for ravens, and that was what he was, even with the memories of many creatures within his bones. So he smiled and served as he always did, because he loved Aurora more than he loved most things. 

Aurora was a clever thing, however. She was compassionate and she understood the creatures of the Moors. It was not only her duty as their queen but her nature, too. After a day of counselling her people and listening to their concerns, she smiled that sweet smile of hers and held out a hand towards Diaval, who immediately took it and helped her to her feet. He brought an arm around her waist and guided her to the privacy of the grove that served as the royal bedchamber.

The grove had been made a little more homely with some feather pillows from Ulstead. Willow trees protected the small area with their draping branches and leaves, enchanted to ensure true privacy for their queen. Many beautiful, glowing flowers decorated the grass and fish swam merrily about the clear pond in the centre of the grove. It was a beautiful, quiet place, and few were allowed within aside from the fireflies, fairy attendants, and the close members of Aurora’s family.

The fireflies, glowing with a rainbow assortment of light, parted as Diaval brought the pregnant queen to her bed of flowers and helped her settle into the petals. Twilight shone golden above them in the sky, signalling the oncoming blanket of night and stars. Nose twitching at the heavy scent of sap and pollen, the raven stood up and bowed slightly, smiling, then made to take his leave.

“Diaval, wait.”

He turned abruptly, taking note of the rather intense expression on Aurora’s face and the way her hands clung tightly to her belly. Worry flaring, he was back by her side in an instant, sitting on the edge of the flower bed and looking her over with some desperation. 

“What? What is it?”

“The baby is kicking,” the young queen said, and then she … smiled?

Immediately confused, Diaval stared at her belly with some affront. That was rather rude of the child, wasn’t it? To be kicking its mother from the inside? And why was Aurora so happy about it? His puzzlement must have shown on his face, for the woman laughed and took one of his hands to rest it against the swell of her abdomen, and then sure enough, he could feel a sort of light thudding against his palm every now and then. 

“Oh,” he murmured, eyebrows raising. Well, if it wasn’t hurting her, then there was no problem. Surprised by the sudden contentment that filled him in response to feeling the new life beneath his own hand, he looked at Aurora and smiled proudly along with her. “Look at that. It’s movin’ around like a squiggly little worm in there. Doesn’t it feel odd?”

“Oh, very odd,” Aurora said. “The midwife at Ulstead said it’s perfectly normal. It’s a good sign, in fact. I’m so glad that you were here to feel it, too.” Her smile became increasingly sweet as she regarded him.

Though touched by the gesture, Diaval awkwardly glanced back to where his hand was joined at her belly. If Maleficent was there, it would be her hand feeling the healthy kicking of her grandchild. It felt strange to be the one on the receiving end, though he could not fully ascertain just why it felt that way.

“I’m sure it won’t be long until your mother is back,” he offered, hoping to be something of a comfort in the absence of Maleficent at such a time. “The Dark Fae … well, I guess there’s a whole lot of adjustin’ for them to do. Suddenly they can go wherever they want, whenever they want. It’s a stark change. It must be like jumping naked into freezing water, you know. Bit of a shock to the system.”

Aurora’s brow pinched in a moment of confusion. Her hand wrapped around Diaval’s, keeping it held firmly at her belly. 

“Mother was only here yesterday. Didn’t you see her?”

It was a strange sensation that followed. Being a simple creature, he didn’t quite understand what it was. It sort of felt like his heart had dropped within his chest, or maybe like something was gripping it from the inside. Whatever it was, whatever the _ cause _ of it was, it actually hurt like a physical pain, and he briefly fretted as to whether something was seriously wrong with him. Frowning, he massaged his chest briefly and shook his head, dark eyes moving this way and that. 

“Ah, er … well, no. Must’ve just - missed her. Like two ships passing at night, we are. She’s very busy, you know, what with discovering her ancestral homeland and people and all that. I wouldn’t be much use, I don’t really understand that sort of thing.”

“Is there something going on between you?” Aurora pressed, squeezing his hand between hers. “You’ve been somber as of late, my dear bird. Your thoughts are turning inward.”

“There is nothing going on,” Diaval replied quickly, and that was the truth. There was nothing going on because he hardly ever saw his Mistress anymore. “I promise. I’m just not used to spending so much time as a human, I suppose. Humans think about things too much.” That was something of a fib. Even when a raven he could think like a human, because he remembered every creature he had ever been. “Your mother is so happy, you know. She’s so …” he drifted off, shrugging and smiling. 

_ Free. _

Apparently, he had said the wrong thing. Aghast to find tears building in Aurora’s eyes, his smile dropped straight from his face and he flustered a moment, pulling his hand from her belly in case he had accidentally hurt her. However, the queen reached for him again despite that the baby had quieted, rolling herself up so that she might embrace him, instead. 

“Are you happy?” She asked, though continued before he could even begin to fathom an answer. “When night falls, what do you do? Where do you go? You can’t possibly reach Maleficent’s nest like this. What do you need, Diaval? You’ve always been there for me. Let me do the same for you.”

Momentarily overwhelmed, Diaval brought his arms slowly around the young queen, even patting her back as he had seen other humans do with one another. He was not entirely unfamiliar with this territory; he had comforted a tearful Aurora many times when she was a child, easing her into games to distract her from whatever might have been bothering her. He wasn’t sure what about _ him _was bothering her, however, and he felt it went against his duty if something he was doing was actively upsetting her.

“I find somewhere comfortable in the castle,” he said, trying to placate her, but it only seemed to make things worse. Aurora sniffled against his shoulder. “My Queen, please. I don’t want to upset you! I really am content with the way things are. I wouldn’t change being here with you for the world. I’m always at your service. Come on, now. Lie down. There we go.”

With Aurora deposited back onto the flower bed, Diaval stood up, worried about the effect he’d had on his charge. She continued to blink tearfully up at him, though she managed a shaky sort of smile. 

“I wanted you to feel the baby,” she insisted, nodding at him. “You know that, don’t you? I’m here because of you and mother. I want to pay back all the kindness you have shown me all these years. Will you let me, Diaval? I’ll give you your own space in the castle. I won’t have you without even somewhere to sleep.”

Unsure what to do with the concern, he just smiled back at her, his hands wringing anxiously at his front. What would Maleficent do if she found out Aurora had gotten so upset about all this? Maybe she would turn him into an earth worm and leave him out for the birds. Or maybe she would turn him back into a raven. Truly. With no memories or anything of the sort. Aurora was absolutely Maleficent’s weakness and anything that came between the pair, well … they would not be met with a kind fate. 

“Don’t cry. Please. I’m not a human, not really, I don’t mind finding my own way. Don’t worry about me, otherwise your mother might - you know. I’m here to look after you, not the other way around. Listen, why don’t we go and annoy the fire sprites tomorrow? Remember when we would sit above them in the trees and roast walnuts in their hair?”

Thankfully, Aurora sniggered at that. “I remember, though I can hardly do that now, Diaval. I’m their queen.”

“Ah, yes. Right. Well, I’ll bring you your breakfast. All of your favourite things.” Reaching down, he dabbed carefully at the lady’s eyes with his sleeve. “No more tears, now. You have enough to be worrying about. There’s only a bloody child kicking at your insides. Imagine what it’s going to be like when it’s on the _ outside _.”

The young queen regarded him somewhat sadly, reaching for his hand again. 

“Will you be there? When the baby is born? I’d love for my family to be there.”

Diaval thought he might have had tears forming in his own eyes by then. Feeling a traitorous heat within them, he looked up towards the twilight to try and blink the moisture away before it could fall. What could he say to her? Where he was depended largely on where Maleficent wanted him to be, and as of then, he was not entirely sure just where that was. Aurora would welcome him with open arms into such a personal affair, but would the Guardian of the Moors? 

“Of course,” he decided, looking back down at the queen with all the fondness in the world. Whether or not Maleficent wanted him around, he would find a way to keep true to his word - he loved Aurora as if she were his own fledgling, and he was hardly going to say _ no. _To do so would hurt him as much as it hurt her, of that he was sure.

Feeling that strange and uncomfortable ache in his chest again, he squeezed Aurora’s hand and looked at her with all the love he could muster, willing its warmth to banish the worry that fluttered about his heart.

“My Queen, I would do anything to be there.”

“All right,” Aurora said with a smile, though there was still a melancholy to be found in her gaze. “Do you promise?”

“Pinky promise.” Diaval turned their hands about so that their little fingers could be joined. At Aurora’s expression of confusion, he continued, “I saw some children doing this in Ulstead. It makes a promise super, ultra special. I really can’t let you down, now, or I’ll be met with the wrath of the gods.”

“You never have,” the queen said with a soft smile, playfully tugging at his little finger. “You’d talk your way out of their wrath, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, yes, of course. What kind of raven worth his salt wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of a smiting? Really, now. I’d be summoned to the hearing and then back in time for tea, two sugars and very milky, please. Still, it’s a hassle I’d rather avoid. Even corvids can make promises that they want to keep.” Reaching down, he petted at Aurora’s pale hair. “You really should rest. So much as a bag under your eye and your mother will drag me through the Moors by the ear. And no more worrying! Promise?” He waggled their still joined fingers. 

Aurora pouted. “I can’t promise that. I love you, Diaval. I’m supposed to worry.”

“And I love you, diamond, but there is nothing for you to be concerned about. Look after yourself, aye? Shall I stay outside your chamber tonight?”

“Yes, please. Don’t venture too far.” Her voice still thick with emotion, she handed him a thick, feather-stuffed pillow, then wiped her nose on her arm. “I’m sorry for crying. I’ve been feeling, um … sensitive, I suppose. Perhaps travelling back and forth between kingdoms is wearing on me.”

Spying an opportunity, Diaval leapt upon it at once. 

“Then I’ll do the travelling for you from now on. Let me be your wings. It means you can rest and I’ll be staying out of trouble. Would you trust me to carry your words?”

“Of course I would. What a wonderful idea. I’ll write my first letter to Phillip tomorrow, and then he can visit when he wants.”

Relieved, Diaval smiled and nodded, then prepared to leave, taking the pillow with him. 

“Good. Then to sleep with you, my Queen, before I start singing lullabies. Last time I did that, everyone in the Moors wept for days - and not because it was sad or beautiful, mind you. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” Before parting the willow branches, he did turn to look back at her again, unable to resist. She graced him with one of her infamous smiles and her eyes positively shone with it, as bright as the stars and alight with a true, loving fondness. Diaval stopped and responded in kind, though his smile was gentler as he beheld her, his Queen of the Moors, for which he would do anything at all. “Ah, Aurora. You’re glowing,” he said, and then he left the grove, keeping the willow leaves parted long enough that the fairy attendants could pass through. 

Walking about the willows, he discovered a comfortable curl of roots near Aurora’s grove and settled down within it, fluffing up the pillow and kicking back to gaze into the darkening skies. He didn’t much like how humans slept. It was far too vulnerable. At least as a bird he was always ready to take to the skies if attacked. Like this, an assailant would be met with a tangled mess of hair and a sliver of drool. This was how Maleficent wanted him, however, and so it would be the way of things, because he would do anything for her, too. Even if it meant being wingless and slightly clueless as to his stance with the fearsome faerie.

She wouldn’t really avoid him. Would she? She was just busy, that was all, and such business could hardly be conducted sensitively by someone like him, a simple creature who could be presumed not to understand any of it. At the same time, he had never spent so much time away from Maleficent and it was not a comfortable feeling. Painful, like before. He missed her, just as she had claimed to miss him, once. 

But it wasn’t his business. He was the servant and she was his Mistress. She was a powerful Dark Fae, the strongest of them, who had much to do and learn. He would be proud to serve her as and when she needed him, and he would serve her daughter, too, as best he could. That was why he had been created and it pleased him to do it. All the negative human emotions that came with this form were only trivial and meaningless things that could just be forgotten.

* * *

By afternoon the following day, Diaval arrived in Ulstead upon a moorboar which he had no choice but to house in the stables alongside the horses, much to their evident distress. In response, the great boar merely settled down and flicked its long tongue out at the flies infesting the place. 

“See? He’s helping,” Diaval said to the horses, and their ears swivelled to listen to him. They slowly calmed and returned to what they had been doing previously - standing around looking bored - and ignored him entirely.

Dressed in his best leathers and cloak, he ventured towards the great castle and let himself in with a few charming smiles and cheerful greetings in response to the guards generally eyeing him as though he might transform into a beast of old at any given moment. Their nervousness and ignorance served to amuse him somewhat; they didn’t seem to understand that he was only a raven and not a shapeshifter in the true sense of the word, and that were far scarier things to be found in the world than him. Still, it wasn’t often he could inspire fear in the hearts of men while not stood upon Maleficent’s staff, so he chose to make the most of it and headed for the dining hall, digging uncomfortably in his ear when his arrival was announced via blaring trumpets. 

King John and his son, Prince Phillip, were in the middle of lunch. Pheasant, by the looks of it. They at least had the decency to look sheepish upon his approach, quickly putting down their forks and rising from their seats. 

“Oh! Diabol- Diablo, was it?” King John greeted clumsily, though his smile was genuine. 

“It’s Diaval, father,” Phillip corrected quickly, suitably embarrassed. Looking at the tied scroll in Diaval’s hand, he gestured at it, looking concerned. “Is this from Aurora? Is everything all right?”

“She’s fine, Your Majesties, just worn off her feet. She decided it was time to stop travelling and focus on resting. Can’t be more than a couple of months until, er, you know -“ Diaval made a crude little popping sound with his tongue, then smiled joyfully despite the brief, uncomfortable looks shared between the two men. “Oh, she wrote this for you. And she said you’ll have to ride if you want to see her. I’d get a move on, if I were you. There are storm clouds drawing in.” He passed the scroll over.

“Thank you,” Phillip returned, quickly recovering. He was used to the strangeness of the Moorfolk. Likewise, his father had an open heart and open mind, and where most kings might have been disconcerted or even offended by the raven shapeshifter, John just seemed to find him amusing. 

“Well,” the king said cheerfully, though his features turned serious. “How goes that awful business in the Moors, then? Have you found the perpetrator yet?”

A short silence fell as Diaval quickly racked his thoughts for anything that could have been considered ‘awful business’ following the Battle of Ulstead. Certainly, there had been many fairy deaths and there had been a field of tomb-bloom to restore, but that was months and months ago. There had been a few tempestuous arguments between Knotgrass and Thistlewit. Other than that, the Moors were in a peaceful and prosperous spell under the leadership of Aurora and the guardianship of Maleficent. 

“Er, not to be rude, Majesty,” Diaval began, clueless, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have we found what perpetrator?”

The two humans looked at each other again, just as confused as the other man was. 

“Well, you know!” John insisted. “The thief! Didn’t Maleficent tell you? Aren’t you her …” Gesturing vaguely, he seemed unsure what to say, stumbling over himself. “Her … husband? Consort? Other half? Forgive me, I’m not entirely sure what Moor terms are for such a thing -“

“Father -“ Phillip tried to interrupt, then covered his face with his hand.

It was too late - Diaval’s mouth was already hanging open. It hung cluelessly for a good amount of time as he processed the apparent mix up, regarding it with a mixture of devastation and amusement. It was fortunate for all of them that Maleficent wasn’t actually present to have heard such a thing; she might have either laughed or destroyed a second dining table to have been met with a very foolish and very human assumption. 

“I’m her servant,” Diaval managed once he remembered how to use his tongue. “Not her mate. Oh! That’s … that’s funny. That you thought that. I’m not like her, actually. I’m just a raven given human form. Mind your jewellery and your crops. That kind of raven. I’m like another pair of hands.”

“Oh! I do beg your pardon. I only thought - Well, she brought you to meet the queen and I, so I foolishly assumed that you were dear Aurora’s father.”

The words were like a lance. Sharp and unexpected. While John smiled into the awkward silence that followed, Diaval cleared his throat and glanced at the shiny marble floor, feeling the foolish need to correct the king. He thought better of it, however. Glancing up, he found Phillip gazing curiously at him within the brief pause.

“He is,” the prince stated, still looking at him. “He’s her family. That’s why he was at the dinner.”

Diaval nodded and managed a smile in affirmation. He knew that he liked Philip, and was proud to say that he had liked him far longer than Maleficent had. 

“Ah! My apologies, then. I daresay Maleficent is between here and the caves of her people. Busy, busy. I heard that a thief stole a very precious treasure, yes indeed,” John said cheerfully, quite proud to be in possession of important news. “The Phoenix Emerald. Passed down from their matriarch herself. Just gone. Poof. Like that. It’s important enough that its delayed their travels into the great, wide world.”

Diaval blinked slowly in surprise, head tilting. “Huh. Phoenix Emerald? Not a very imaginative name, is it? Then again, faeries can be a bit literal. I wonder what’s so important about it?”

And if it was that important, why hadn’t Maleficent summoned her faithful servant to her side? He _ was _ a raven. Hunting treasures was something of a knack of his. Then again, an entire community of Dark Fae in possession of great, old magics were no doubt a little bit more adept in the art of finding things than he was. Just a bit.

Frowning thoughtfully, Diaval shrugged as if to dismiss the issue, though remained contemplative. Anything with ‘phoenix’ in its name had to be related to his Mistress, which meant that it _ was _ important. And now it was gone, disturbing even Maleficent enough to spend days in a row away from her pregnant daughter and apparently forgetting that Diaval even existed. 

“I’d best be back, then! She might have flown in before the storm hit. Phil, are you coming?”

“Phil?” King John questioned, though went ignored. 

“Tomorrow,” Phillip nodded. “The storm is meant to blow over to the sea. Tell her I’ll be there, will you? Tell her I miss her? Oh, and that I love her more than life itself. Her smile - everything. My day is all the brighter at the prospect of seeing her again.”

The shapeshifter tried but failed to restrain a grimace, feeling his breakfast threaten at his gullet. 

“Ugh. Alright, then. You can count on ol’ Diaval, but next time, be sure to write a letter. Do I look like the sort of person that waxes lyrical? Really, now. I love Aurora but I merely like you. Remember that.” Shaking his head with some disbelief, Diaval bowed before the two men and then made to take his leave, eager to return to the Moors. 

“Ride safely!” King John called to him as he went. “The weather is meant to turn vicious!”

“Tell Aurora!” Prince Phillip insisted.

“Yes, yes, fine.” Diaval dismissed them with a shooing gesture and gratefully left; all the pomp and grandiosity of the castle of Ulstead was not his cup of tea, though he did appreciate its current inhabitants. (The queen, Ingrith, was locked up in the dungeons as far as he knew, and nobody had taken it upon themselves to transform her back from a goat.) 

Before long, he was headed back for the Moors amidst a growing storm. The wind was picking up, and the black clouds clinging to the horizon were slowly drawing in. It was some leagues to the nearest bridge across the broad river that separated the two kingdoms, and so by the time he reached it, Diaval and his moorboar were already soaked to the skin with rain, the great black spires of clouds darkening the sky over their heads. The man grumbled to himself as he entered the Moors. He would have been there and back again in time for afternoon tea if he was in his raven form. 

The creatures of the Moors, animal and fairy alike, gathered in and beneath the trees as the rain poured heavily across their land. However, Aurora remained diligent at her throne, shielded from the rain dripping in from the crowns of the trees by a pixie with a toadstool umbrella. Once the moorboar was freed of its reigns, Diaval swiftly entered the court of the queen and ascended to the throne to touch at her hand.

“What are you doing out here?” He scolded, though could not quite manage anger in his voice. He had never been able to do that with her. “You’ll catch a chill! The Moorfolk can wait until tomorrow for your counsel, surely.”

“The fireflies are keeping me warm,” the young queen responded with a smile, and indeed, fireflies were hovering close to her as magical things tended to and they were radiating a gentle heat. She looked him over and raised a blonde eyebrow in a disapproving sort of fashion, suddenly looking so much like her mother that Diaval balked and kneeled. “_You _will catch a chill. You’re soaked through. You must go to the baths at once and warm up.”

“I will. I delivered your letter, my Queen. Phillip said he will ride to see you tomorrow once the storm has passed. He also said, er … that he loves you. Basically. It was more like a poem but that’s the gist.”

Aurora giggled and gestured for the man to stand. Though amused, her expression became rather more intense as she looked at him. Reaching forwards, she held on to his wet sleeve and offered a small smile.

“Thank you, Diaval. I would have rather you stayed at Ulstead in the warm instead of riding back in this.”

“This? Just a bit o’ rain, diamond.”

“Indeed,” Aurora sighed, then let go of his sleeve. “Your eyes are always so sad, you know.”

Caught off guard by that, Diaval quickly tried to arrange his features into something a little more pleasing, unsure what it really meant to have melancholy in ones eyes, but Aurora was not to be fooled. 

“I know that you miss her. She should be visiting today if the winds are kind. I’ll make sure that she sees you.”

“Oh - you don’t have to do that,” he said quickly, alarmed. Certainly, he missed Maleficent but was also oddly nervous about seeing her again. So much had changed and they hadn’t had a chance to catch up with it together. Rather, they had parted ways and endured the changes alone, and he was left wondering just what he had done to deserve her silence. “She will find me when she needs me. You just tell her that I’m _ fine_. It’s just been … different. That’s all. Somethin’ to get used to. You understand that, right?” Diaval reached for the giant toadstool shielding her from the rain, shooing away the pixie holding it. Steadfast by her side, he angled it to better shield her as the rain steadily worsened. The pixie attendant grumbled and stood off to one side. 

“I do understand,” Aurora insisted. “Diaval, you don’t have to do that. You said you would go to the baths.”

“In a wee bit, I will. How have the Moorfolk been today?”

He shifted a bit when the woman stared pointedly at him. 

“Difficult.”

“Oh, ah, that’s a shame. Well, I’m here, now.”

A moment of silence. Feeling Aurora’s eyes upon him, he adjusted the stalk of the toadstool as to slowly block her vision, but the queen laughed and batted at his arm in mock affront before pulling him closer. Despite his sodden shirt, she hooked her arm into his and rested her head against his shoulder.

Diaval wouldn’t have moved for the world. Not while his dear fledgling rested easily upon him. 

The fireflies shifted to encompass the both of them, sharing their warmth and easing the slight chill clinging to Diaval. Aurora was gazing out into the woodland court, but he was looking down upon her fair, golden locks, silently hoping that there would be many, many moments like this in the future no matter what changes befell them all. He hoped that she would always need him, come rain or shine. 

“Here, something to brighten your day,” Diaval continued, unsatisfied with the frown the queen wore, now. “The king thought that Maleficent and I were married. You should have seen Phillip’s face.”

Aurora snorted with laughter again, turning her attention back to him.

“Oh, you’re not?” She asked, though was unable to maintain a serious expression. “It’s not as ridiculous as you think it is. _ I _thought you were together for the longest time. You do share a nest.”

Well, that hadn’t gone as planned.

“Did,” Diaval corrected, restraining his glumness in the matter. “_Did _ share a nest. Besides, we slept very much apart, or she probably would have killed me a long time ago. I snore in this shape. And everybody seems to forget that I’m a bird. A beast of the forest and her servant. And _ she’s _a great faerie.”

“You love her,” the queen stated matter-of-factly.

“Yes, like I love you. Like family.”

“No,” murmured Aurora, sitting up to look at him properly. “You love her in the way mates love, don’t you? That’s why you always have that look in your eyes.”

“_What _ look?”

“The …” Blinking a bit, Aurora arranged her expression into something loving but heartbreaking, her eyes full of secret, sad longing. “That look.”

“You’re good at that,” commended Diaval, averting his eyes and trying to deflect her words to spare himself humiliation. “Very funny. I heard that the pixies are forming an acting troupe, actually. You should put your name in for consideration.”

“Are you ever going to tell her?”

He could have sworn he heard Maleficent’s laughter in the wind. Diaval closed his eyes briefly, pained. Her laughter was either ever musical with delight or as cold as the North Pole, and he knew how she would laugh if he did as Aurora wanted. There was absolutely no way he could go through with it. Not ever. 

“No. I’m sorry if it disappoints you, my Queen. My Mistress is among her own people, now. She can fly with them. She can trust them. She’s so free, I wouldn’t want to spoil her happiness. Besides, she is bound to capture the interest of a fair few. Maybe she will take one of them as a mate. Someone who can give her children, if she wanted it. I’m not a faerie, Aurora. I’m not as strong or as fast or as magical as they are. I’m not what she really deserves.” As melancholy seeped into his heart, Diaval summoned back the pixie and handed her the mushroom umbrella again, much to her relief. “I don’t want her to return what I feel. I have known her for so long and I have seen her pain. I just want her to be happy.” Looking around, he stared threateningly at the pixie and at the eavesdropping fairies hiding in the leaves of the great tree behind the throne. “And not a word to her. Any of you. Or I’ll annoy you for an eternity.”

As a shiver racked his body, Diaval placed Aurora’s hand back onto the arm of her elaborate seat and stepped away, though he was forced to stop when something wrapped around his middle. Aurora herself, ensnaring him from behind. She did so without a word. Holding still, the shapeshifter felt something like a lump form in his throat, unbidden, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to remove himself from the sights of all the magical creatures watching from the shadows. 

“I’m going to the baths,” he croaked, his raspy voice even coarser than usual. “You can let me go, diamond. It’s all right, now.” Turning in her arms, he pushed gently at her shoulders. “You need to stay out of the rain. Quickly, before Maleficent has my head.”

“I’m sorry,” Aurora said, and she squeezed him. “I’m here for you, if you need it, just as you have always been there for me. I think that Mother is so lucky to have you, and so am I.” Her pale, moistened eyes softened all the more as she beheld him from her shelter. “My father … Stefan, I know that he sent me away out of love, but when I returned to his castle those years later, there was no love in his eyes. He was corrupted by vengeance. Hatred. He could not love. The first thing he did was lock me in my room as if I were a stranger. I was so lucky to have the love of a true father at my back, the great dragon that fought at Maleficent’s side every step of the way. The one who rocked my cradle so that I might sleep. The one who made me laugh and protected me from harm. Now, I hate to see my father believing that his sorrows do not matter. You mean the world to me.”

Diaval choked on a surge of emotion. 

What it all was, he couldn’t figure it out; it was too powerful and jumbled and it hurt in a bittersweet sort of way. He did know that pride nestled there in the storm of confusion. Gratitude, certainly. And _ love. _

Swallowing it all back as best he could, the man huffed and then looked away to very quickly wipe his eyes on his sleeve. He had been known as a common raven, and then a servant. He hadn’t been much else since then, except maybe a friend. Now, Aurora had given him the title he had desired more than most, and she had done it so easily.

“Thank you,” he managed hoarsely, his dark eyes filling incessantly with hot tears which he was desperate to be rid of. Aurora just smiled that smile of hers and held him close. “I love you.”

“I know,” the queen murmured gently, and brought his head down so that she could kiss it. “Go and warm up, then. That’s an order.”


	2. A Storm of Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m blown away by the feedback this has gotten already. Thanks so much!

They parted, and Diaval left the royal grove as quickly as his legs could carry him, rubbing aggressively at his eyes and nose. The stupid tears were never ending, so it felt. Where did humans even store that much moisture?! A bit flummoxed and embarrassed but also full of joy following Aurora’s assertion, the man didn’t quite know what to do with himself and all the emotions that had barrelled their way into being from a place once closed and private. 

Privacy was a rare commodity at the baths, too, which were warm springs set naturally into rocks behind the woodland castle. Fairies were always playing there and it was rare to get relaxing time to oneself, though most of them seemed to have disappeared in wake of the storm moving slowly overhead. A few water nymphs were sat on the rocky edges of the pools, but it was likely their home and he wouldn’t ask them to leave, even if it was a bit of a pain sometimes having a human body and having to try and clean it in a place that had next to no walls. 

“What’re you looking at?” He said sharply to the nymphs as they watched him undress. With a disgruntled look, he turned and kept his back to them as he removed his clothes, knowing full well that they were still watching - and then they were giggling between them once he was fully naked, blushes on their little blue cheeks. 

They continued giggling as they ran forwards and picked up his clothes to fold them and magic the water out of them, setting them down in a dry spot within the rocks. Diaval quickly slid into the water while they were distracted, though they chose to remain at the edge of his particular pool, whispering and laughing to their hearts’ content. 

“You stop that, now. Nobody gets between a raven and his bath,” Diaval demanded. He dipped down beneath the hot water and then up again, running his hands back over his face and through his hair to banish the tears and the chill that had set in. The nymphs were lying down on their fronts by then, ogling him unabashedly. “Oi, you wouldn’t be lookin’ at me if I was a bird, would you? Off with ye.” He flicked water in their direction and settled back on a ledge within the pool to rest. 

The rain was heavy and cold, but the warmth of the pools kept the chill away. The man rested his head back on the stone and closed his eyes, listening to the intense pitter-pattering of the weather and the occasional roll of thunder. Taking a deep breath, he wanted to sink into the nature of the place and steady his thoughts and emotions, trying to put everything quite back where it belonged, thank you very much. He had never been a particularly restrained person because everything had always made sense and he had never been upset or angry to such an extent it had to be hidden. Now, it felt as though it was important to hide what he was feeling lest he bring hurt to the people he loved. 

Above all that, Aurora had made his day. Maybe even his life, in fact. He smirked stupidly to himself, lowering into the water until only the upper half of his face could be seen. Aurora loved him like she might have loved her own father, and there was no greater gift than that. 

Diaval remained there in the baths for some time. It was only when the rain suddenly stopped without warning that he shifted, opening his eyes from the half-nap he had partaken in. Bleary-eyed, he blinked until everything was back in focus and found that three water nymphs had since multiplied into thirty, all of them staring at him and giggling between themselves. 

“Oh, come on, now! What’re you expecting me to do, exactly?”

Another voice arose from the shadows, cool and powerful and heart stoppingly familiar. 

“I see you’ve assembled quite the gathering.”

By some instinct, Diaval stood up to attention to face the voice head on, much to the delight of the nymphs, though the small, playful creatures shielded their eyes and quickly ran away up the piles of rocks and stones, laughing among themselves. 

“S’not what it looks like, I swear,” he insisted, still somewhat groggy from sleep.

Maleficent’s statuesque form drifted into sight from the trees.

What a vision she was. Like always. Her powerful wings scraped the undergrowth and then the rocks at her bare feet. She wore an elaborate dress of green and dark brown with a glittering dragon embroidered up on the side of it. She did not wear her crown, preferring to leave her straight, silken hair falling over her shoulders. Her lips were startlingly red, even in the dark of the storm and oncoming night. 

Diaval rubbed at his eyes a bit just to make sure it was really her, then greeted her with a silly little wave. The matter of nakedness was nothing to them. She had seen him unclothed more than once, at first at his creation and several more times in their nest, and she had preferred to lie bare on hot summer nights while in his company, too. They were a raven and a faerie with not the sensibilities of mankind. 

Both elated and surprised to see her, Diaval remained cautious and did not approach, instead clambering out of the pool in search of his clothes. Finding them gone, he sighed and scratched thoughtfully at his sodden hair a moment. 

“Er, excuse me, the beasts stole my clothes,” he admitted, ignoring the bracing chill of the air against his wet skin. “Did you just get back from the caves?”

“Yes,” was the short response. Maleficent moved towards one of the pools and dipped a toe testingly into the water, her intense and beautiful green-gold eyes still set upon him. “I have just seen Aurora.” The faerie leaned on her staff, raising a dark eyebrow. “She’s worried about you. She says you are not eating or sleeping well.”

“What? Me?” Wrapping his arms around himself, he forced a thoughtful look onto his countenance, silently cursing Aurora’s untimely concern. “I suppose I’m just gettin’ used to spending all my time as a man. Don’t really, er … have it all down yet. Just trying to have a bath is a nightmare.”

“Why didn’t you use the pools near the nest? Nobody dares venture to them.”

“Oh, well, I can’t get there as easily as you can, Mistress. I don’t have wings, you know.”

“Hm.” The faerie tilted her head slightly, looking him up and down. “You know why I’ve kept you like this, don’t you? It’s better for Aurora in my absence. She can’t well converse with a raven, nor can a raven protect her like this form can. Would you prefer it if I turned you into a fairy?”

It sounded as a joke, though Diaval’s eyes lit up somewhat at that. 

“Maybe you could. You’re powerful enough, right? You could turn me into a faerie, like you. It’s gotta be more useful than _ this._” He gestured vaguely down at himself. “Wings and a man-shape, sounds like the best of both worlds.”

Not entirely expecting the sharp gaze he was met with then, he glanced away and thought about getting back into the pool, instead, feeling about as small as an earth worm in the direct line of those striking eyes. Chancing a glance back at her, he found her frozen in place, though she swiftly recovered and then smiled incredulously. 

“Turn you into a … Dear, there’s more to being a faerie than just looking like one.”

Diaval looked away again, disappointed. “Right. Well, what about just for fun? See what it looks like.”

“Oh …” Maleficent resisted, her emotions expertly concealed beneath the perfect form of her face. “Oh, very well. It has been a while since we’ve had some fun, hasn’t it?” Extending a hand towards him, she clicked her fingers with a flourish of mist-like, golden magic. “Into a dark faerie.”

It felt different to all the other times. Whereas before he would immediately feel and perhaps be momentarily overwhelmed by the strength of the animal he was turning into, now it was more like a warm rush of magic. He could feel it settling into his very being, into his blood and bones and heart, as if it had always been there. It felt as though he could break the earth with that magic alone - _ her _ magic, more powerful than any other. Stumbling a bit as the physical changes took hold, he had to kneel down as to not fall over given the sudden weight of wings at his back. 

When it was over, he stood and held Maleficent’s gaze, finding her staring at him without a trace of amusement. Slowly, she approached and then walked a small circle around him, eyes flitting about his form, and then she directed him to look into the still water of the nearest pool. He did so, wobbling to the edge and looking in to find the reflection of the two of them stood there, together. 

He was still a wild creature, for sure. His form was much the same to his human one but now complete with strong, black horns and an enormous pair of wings. The feathers were as pitch as a raven’s, iridescent with bottle greens and deep blues, and they were long and dishevelled and glorious. Even more feathers were interspersed through his dark hair, which fell forwards to frame his pale, pointed face. 

But he could never compare to her. His gaze drifted to Maleficent’s reflection. She wore that form with grace, whereas he looked like he had just stumbled into it. Which he had, he supposed. 

“You didn’t tell me about the thief,” he said before he could stop himself, wincing even as he spoke the words. “The Phoenix Emerald.”

Maleficent was staring at their reflection, too.

“Why would I? You were busy here with Aurora.”

“I’m your servant. I can help you.”

“You _ are _ helping me, foolish bird.”

_ Bird _ somehow felt so much lesser than what he felt. Before he could get used to his new skin, however, Maleficent waved her hand and changed him back into a hornless, wingless man, and Diaval took a great and sudden offence to what he saw in the water, empty without her magic inside him. Pulling away, he stared down at himself with irritation.

“Why? I’m of more use to Aurora like that than this! Why keep me as a human when I can be like you?!”

“You’re perfect use to Aurora the way you are,” Maleficent said in a cool tone.

“As a messenger, maybe. If an army suddenly crashed into the Moors I wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop them.”

“Are you expecting an army to invade the Moors?”

Diaval relented. “No, but -“

“Then you are fine as you are. The Dark Fae would not look kindly on one who has not earned his place among them. Do you see?”

He was reluctantly wounded by that. Taking a few small steps away, he turned towards the rocks piling up towards the forest castle in the hopes of spotting some of his clothes, suddenly feeling far too exposed and vulnerable for his liking. 

“Have I not earned my place at your side?”

Maleficent just looked at him questioningly. He could feel her gaze boring into him that short moment, as if trying to read him through his skin. 

“I’ve already lived longer than a raven should,” Diaval continued, folding his arms across his scarred chest. “What are you going to do with me, Mistress? What happens when you don’t want me as a servant anymore? What if some … I don’t know, some rugged mountain lion comes along and looks better and is far more useful as a person than I am -“

“You’re being ridiculous,” Maleficent interrupted. “I leave for a few weeks and this is what happens?”

“You were avoiding me.”

“I was _ not. _ I just didn’t see you.”

“Then you didn’t find me! I thought we were -“

“What?” The faerie asked flatly. Dangerously. He had succeeded in making her angry, he could tell, and he would no doubt be regretting it shortly. “What, Diaval? Friends? I am your Mistress and I do with you what I please. You pledged your service to me. What else were you expecting?”

This wasn’t her, he knew. She had more heart than what her cruel words suggested. The matter of the Phoenix Emerald seemed to be a great pressure on her mind, and that was between managing two lives. Diaval did realise, however, that maybe he was being ridiculous. She _ was _his Mistress. He would exist and he would die on her terms and he had agreed himself into that situation long ago. She was far above him in the pecking order and he would be trailing behind for as long as he lived. For a long time, he had been content with that. 

Maybe after knowing her for over two decades he had thought himself into a particular space and was now just realising that it wasn’t real. 

A single raven was just a raven. A group of ravens was called an unkindness. He had not known true unkindness until becoming a human, however, and even then, he had always known better. Diaval knew Maleficent better than anyone, and he’d thought, however foolishly, that they might have been friends after all they had endured together. 

Apparently, they weren’t. Why did that bother him so much? 

Heart sinking, Diaval just looked at her in silence before heading towards the rocks in search of his clothes. He swallowed back the hurt until the only sign of his vexation was a clenched jaw. Climbing up onto one of the rocks, he glared at a nymph peeping at him nearby until it flew off and retrieved his lost garments one by one, and with much relief did the man dress himself in his usual dark attire. 

Maleficent was still there, her long fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood of her staff. 

“Fine. You can come with me to the caves for a while,” she said at last, her voice perhaps gentler than before - her manner of apology, though it was unclear to what extent that apology reached. “I could do with your advice. And … hm, I did miss you.”

“What about Aurora?”

“Phillip will be here, and one of us can fly back every so often to make sure everything is alright.”

Jumping down from the rocks, Diaval kept a careful distance between them and nodded once.

“As you wish, Mistress. Can you turn me back into my more lovely self for tonight, please?”

“Yes. Why so?”

“Just …” Diaval smiled awkwardly. “Don’t much feel like bein’ a man.”

With an unreadable expression, Maleficent wiggled two fingers and magically altered her servant’s shape back into his original form. He shrank down until he was a large raven again and he hopped experimentally, getting used to his old body. His wings felt strange from lack of use, so he stretched them out and flapped a few times, cawing with relief. 

“Diaval. Here,” the faerie commanded, tapping the gem atop her staff. Ever the obedient familiar, Diaval flew up and perched on it, his head tilting this way and that as careful fingers stroked through the messy feathers on his back. “We’ll leave when Phillip arrives tomorrow. I suppose it _ is _ time to introduce you to the family. You need to be on your best behaviour, of course.”

The raven squawked his assent and gestured with a short bow. Spreading his wings, he gratefully took to the skies away from the prying eyes of nymphs and away from the steely, beautiful eyes of Maleficent.

He flew about the Moors for a while, making the most of the magically altered weather. Only when the shield protecting the Moors from the rain disappeared did he soar quickly back to the woods that housed Aurora’s throne, and he found a suitable tree near the queen’s private grove instead of going back to the nest that he shared with Maleficent. Something about going home and sharing that space with her again just didn’t quite feel right. 

Diaval shook the rain from his feathers and tucked his head underneath his wing, exhausted from the day. He thought that sleep would come with ease now that he had his body back. To his great annoyance, human thoughts plagued his mind and would not switch off, no matter how hard he tried to think about nicer, simpler things, like berries and preening. He _ worried. _He rarely worried, he was a cool, laid back individual, always had been, but now it felt as though something was wrong, like the laid back side of him was at odds with a rather human fretting and melancholy. 

She’d said it herself. He was being foolish. Maleficent was older and much wiser and more powerful than him, so she knew better. At least she had relented and allowed him to join her, though the idea made him as nervous as it did hopeful; being surrounded by hundreds of faeries like Maleficent did not exactly fill him with ease, even if he would finally be at her side again. 

Not as a friend. As a servant.

He did not sleep easily that stormy night. 

* * *

The next morning, he had to be called down from the tree by Aurora, who had miraculously spotted him among the still dripping leaves. The raven started awake and realised with some panic that he had likely overslept given the position of the Sun in the sky, so he dropped down and landed clumsily somewhere near Aurora’s feet, squawking agitatedly. The young woman picked him up at once and quickly brushed down any errant feathers. 

“There you are! I thought you might have been close by. You must fly to the Old Port at once. Mother is waiting there for you.” Despite the urgency of her words, Aurora smiled mischievously and fondly scratched at the top of Diaval’s dark head. “So you’re going to the home of the Dark Fae, then. How exciting! You must tell me what it’s like when you come back to visit. I’ll miss you.”

The raven’s toes gently squeezed into the queen’s wrist, and he croaked affectionately in response to her farewell. At least with Phillip visiting, the Moors would have little need for a messenger - and no doubt one of the pixies could take his place if needs be. One of the more frustrating aspects of being a bird was, of course, being unable to explain that in words a human would understand. 

He nibbled playfully at the tip of Aurora’s nose, then at her hair, encouraging her joyous laughter. _ I’ll miss you, too, _is what the small gesture meant, and she beamed down at him in response before holding him aloft on her arm. 

“Fly, then, before you incur mother’s wrath. I’ll see you again soon.” With that, she threw her arm upwards and gave him the propulsion he needed to take flight in such a groggy state. 

Diaval circled the court just once as Aurora waved at him with that beaming smile of hers. She was like sunlight in human form down there among the trees and flowers, positively radiating it from every inch of her skin despite the dull, cloudy day, a beacon of such unbridled happiness that it could brighten the hearts of all who stood near her. There were many who questioned just how she had turned out such a way, what with those responsible for her upbringing.

They must have done something right. 

Soaring off to in the direction of the Old Port, the crumbled ruins of an ancient town by the sea, Diaval flew as swiftly as his wings could carry him. Though it was no longer raining and the wind had died down, the storm lingered there on the horizon like an ill omen, and there was a chill to the air that seemed unnatural given the season. Shivering a bit beneath his feathers, he dipped down and skimmed the crowns of the forests until finally emerging above a near forgotten, overgrown town that was now the home of sea sprites and the occasional rumoured mermaid. 

Maleficent was there, the Sun blazing fiercely against her dark wings. As if sensing his approach, she turned atop the jagged cliff face she was gracing and watched him descend with an arched eyebrow. 

“You’re late,” she observed, waving a hand as soon as he landed to begin his transformation into a human. 

Rising from all fours once his shape was altered and his feathers receded, Diaval stretched his back to relieve a slight crick in it and ambled forwards. 

“Sorry, Mistress. Was just catchin’ up on my beauty sleep. This beautiful plumage doesn’t tend to itself.”

“Neither does the situation at the caves.” Maleficent gave him a critical little glance over, then waved her hand again, golden magic weaving between her fingers. 

Diaval’s attire changed from his preferred open shirt and ragged coat to something rather more formal: a thick tunic with elaborate, silver lining and a long cloak clasped with a raven-head brooch and a dark feathered mantle. His hair suddenly felt less like he had been roughly pulled through a hedge backwards, and the itchy stubble that had formed on his jaw since Maleficent’s departure was gone. He had found himself in this sort of dress more and more frequently the longer he had known her; to be associated with a woman like her meant it was usually important not to look like one had just crawled down from the nearest tree. 

“You are a representative of the Moors. And of me,” the faerie explained as Diaval fingered leisurely at the raven feathers about his shoulders. “And even yourself. The Dark Fae know who and what you are. Servantry is the domain of humans in their eyes. I’ve assured them that you have long become a figure the Moorfolk look to and an integral facet of Aurora’s court.”

“Do my ears deceive me or was there a compliment in there?” Diaval asked slyly, trying to make light of the intensity of the situation. Maleficent’s equally intense expression seemed to lessen somewhat at that, so he continued, “Right. No servant talk. Looks like I’ll have to use your actual name, then.”

“Hm. Maybe I’ll just keep you as a raven,” the faerie returned with equal playfulness. “It would make things easier. Quieter, even.”

“Less interesting,” Diaval corrected.

“Things are interesting enough there without you misbehaving.”

With a soft, crooked smile, Diaval approached with a touch of tentativeness, joining his Mistress at the edge of the rugged cliffs. Maleficent delicately licked at the corner of her thumb and wiped off a few smudges of dirt on his cheek. 

“Where were you all night?” She asked, tilting his head about inspectingly. “Rolling in the mud with the boars?”

“No. Not this time. Just found a tree and slept in it.”

“_You’re _ avoiding _ me_.”

Diaval quickly shook his head. “I wasn’t sure if -“

“Our nest is your home.” Maleficent sighed lightly, her hand drifting down to feel the feathers at his shoulders once she was satisfied the mud was all gone. “I do need your help, Diaval. I … _ apologise _ if -“

“Oh, an apology! This must be serious.” Diaval’s hand moved to lightly rest over hers. “None of that. Anythin’ I thought was going on was in me own head. I’m here to serve you, Mistress. Shall we go?”

With an uncertain sort of look, the faerie nodded and opened her beautiful wings. As she carried herself into the grey sky, Diaval’s form returned to his raven-shape and he fluttered off after her over the churning sea. It was never easy trying to keep up with her; her wings were broad and strong and she could propel herself at impossible speeds depending on her mood, whereas his wings were, well … smaller, even if he prided himself on how fast he was for a raven. She never forgot when he was with her, however, and kept herself at a reasonable pace. 

Together they sailed swiftly across the waters, finding themselves soon enshrouded in thick sea fog. It would have been impossible to navigate if not for the golden glow that enveloped Maleficent’s body and helped him see her in the swirling clouds of white and grey. Though they were still in Moors territory, it was all rather alien to Diaval, who had never had reason to venture over the sea and beyond. Eventually, the fog began to part to reveal what looked like an island, though it towered into the sky like a castle, jagged rocks cutting into the rain clouds. It was an intimidating structure and he was hardly surprised that Maleficent’s heritage was born of such a place. 

Dotted about the sheer rock faces were holes strategically designed for fae access. Within, a labyrinth of these dark tunnels seemed to stretch for miles. There were remnants of nests, dead ends, and a lot of bones decorating the ground (even the odd human skull, which apparently nobody had gotten around to clearing up, yet). The pair flew about the impressive complex until they finally emerged over an entirely new world. 

The island had been magically terraformed to accommodate all Dark Fae. Diaval gazed in awe at the world spanning below. Rocky valleys were crowned with deep, dark forests and snowy tundras. At the basin was sand and oasis. Ahead, a colourful, neverending jungle claimed the rest of the island. He had never seen anything like it in his life. The place was _ old _, he could feel it in his very bones, and as the island was filled with numerous Dark Fae, all kinds of birds made their home there, too. It was a place sacred to the winged beasts of the world. 

Maleficent turned and soared up into the magical woods, soon to be followed by Diaval, who landed ungracefully in his distraction. Finding himself man-shaped again, he stood upright and peered up into the dark depths of the trees. They were ancient beings. Their roots travelled far, far beneath the ground, soaking up the residual magic of times long past. Like silent sentinels, they stood proud and steadfast, guarding their secrets and the people that dwelled within their branches. 

Turning, he found Maleficent watching him patiently from a small distance, her lips upturned in a small, knowing smile. 

“It’s strange,” he said, touching at the trunk of the nearest tree. “Almost feels I’ve seen this place before.”

“I had the same feeling. Ancestral memory.” Maleficent gestured towards the tree behind her, where a pair of ravens were watching curiously from their nest. “The Dark Fae that hail from the forest hold ravens in high regard for their wisdom, loyalty, and mischievousness. You will find yourself among friends here. As for the others …”

“We’re ill omens. I’m more used to that, to be frank.” Diaval peered up at the ravens nesting overhead, briefly wondering if they were distant cousins or something of the sort. “Almost as if we were meant to meet, wasn’t it? You being a forest fae and all.”

“Perhaps,” Maleficent responded dutifully, turning to head into the woods. Diaval followed, taking in as much of their surroundings as he could. 

“Mistress? Can I ask you something?”

“Go on.”

“What’s the Phoenix Emerald and what’s all the fuss about?”

Maleficent’s lips twitched at the phrasing. As they walked together between the old trees, she paused to recall the tale as told by her people. 

“It’s not a true emerald. It’s a stone that amplifies the power of whoever wields it. The Fae vowed only to use it when absolutely necessary.”

As they walked, they entered a large, circular clearing among the trees. Within it was a ring of tall stones, four of which, the markers for the cardinal directions, were carved into the shape of different birds. Southwards was a vulture. To the east was a parrot, and the northernmost statue was a snowy owl. Their wings were extended and holding some sort of treasure within them, whether it was a weapon or an artefact of unknown purpose. 

They moved into the ring and saw the westernmost statue: a raven. Whatever its wings were meant to be holding was no longer there. The pedestal was empty and the grass within the ring was dark and dead because of it. 

“The Phoenix and her mate lived in these woods, thousands of years ago,” Maleficent explained. “She loved him as much as a creature like her could love. He was the father of her first clutch. When the world turned to war, he was slain while defending her eggs from human invaders. As soon as her tears of love and despair fell upon his spilt blood, the emerald was formed of her rage.”

Diaval looked up at the statue. Its pale, lifeless eyes stared back at him, filled with the same desolation that haunted the very earth on which it sat. He wondered if the stone ring was in actuality marking the grave of somebody long passed, for the place had the very same feel the field of tomb-bloom did: sort of quiet and contemplative and very creepy all at once. 

And ravens had long been regarded as symbols of death. As he thought that, a few of them flew in from the trees and perched on top of the statue, their dark heads tilting at him almost expectantly. 

“That’s beautiful,” he said of the tale, drawing himself out of the lugubrious reverie that had taken hold and moving closer to slowly touch at the empty pedestal the stone raven held ensnared. As he did, a strange sensation crept over him.

It started as a prickling at the back of his neck, his hairs standing on end. Then it was a deep ache in his heart being painfully drawn out into the open, so suddenly that Diaval was quickly overwhelmed with a flood of intense emotions. He gasped, unable to move, all his love and sorrow and rage burning like solar flares from the deepest recesses of his mind. The feelings were his and yet they weren’t, and when he clenched his eyes shut, he saw the very earth beneath his feet drenched with blood as ravens shrieked in the grieving trees beyond -

His hand was pulled from the statue, and the dark birds atop it cawed loudly and scattered away. Stunned, Diaval came back to himself and found Maleficent holding his wrist fast, her eyes wide and full of questioning. 

Why was it suddenly so cold?

With a shiver, Diaval backed away and gazed at the statue with some affront.

“Is everythin’ I touch here going to do that?”

“What did you see?” Maleficent demanded. “You saw something.”

“Yes, uh …” the shapeshifter gathered his thoughts as he rubbed his chilled hands together. What had that all even been? A vision? Why were weird statues giving him equally weird visions all of a sudden? “It was nothing about the emerald. Sorry, Mistress. It was just … a lot of blood, right here on the ground. I could hear ravens, hundreds of them.”

Maleficent’s features set, firm and stoic. Unreadable. Green-gold eyes flicked subtly flicked over him, then she slowly released his wrist.

Before more could be said, the trees shifted noisily as the powerful beats of wings blasted air about the clearing. Diaval held his Mistress’ shoulder to steady himself, blinking fiercely to try and bring himself back to reality, and then he watched as a group of fae descended down into the deadened space. There were four of them, one of each kind: desert, tundra, jungle, and forest. 

Diaval winced as dirt was blasted up into his eyes. The fae landed and walked forwards, greeting Maleficent with deep bows. 

“Borra,” Maleficent greeted, inclining her head towards the muscular male with ragged, sandy coloured wings. “Udo,” she said to the other male, a regal being with white wings and hair. “Shrike.” A female with beautiful, multicoloured wings smirked back at them. “Merin.” A second, older female clearly of the forest fae with her darker wings. Maleficent gestured to her servant, who was awkwardly trying to hide the watering of his eyes. “This is Diaval of the Moors.”

“Hello,” Diaval said with a strained smile as their attentions turned to him. If there was a way one was supposed to greet what he could only assume were fae leaders, he had already blown it. “Your, er … Majesties?”

He shifted as they stared at him. Borra seemed particularly interested, though in the sort of way a lion might be interested in a lone zebra out in the plains, his yellow-brown eyes narrowing and momentarily fixing on where Diaval’s hand met Maleficent’s shoulder. His cracked lips turned upwards in an antagonising grin, though this somewhat terrifying expression was swiftly dropped when he stepped forwards and leaned in to sniff at the clueless Diaval, who leaned back as politely as possible. 

“So you’re the help, are you?” Borra asked gruffly, raising his eyebrows. “A raven? Forgive me - why couldn’t we have asked one of the hundreds of others that nest up here? I think if we scour their nests hard enough, we might find the Phoenix Emerald right under our noses.”

“It’s not here,” Maleficent interceded before Diaval could respond. “I can feel that it’s gone. Diaval has served as my …” she paused, briefly glancing at him, “... my advisor for over two decades. He has fought to protect our home many times. He is trustworthy.”

Borra’s lips twitched. “Ah! Well, then.” He spread his arms, nodding towards the vacant statue nearby. “O raven, grace us with your cunning. What manner of creature do you think might have been able to steal one of our most prized relics? A pixie? Maybe a ghost?”

Unsure whether he was actually supposed to be answering, Diaval looked between the fae and then at Maleficent, who nodded. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer as he considered how ‘advisor’ had stung just a little bit less than ‘servant’. Clearing his throat, he tried to look as if he might have had the faintest idea what he was supposed to be doing. 

“Er … well, I think …” His brow furrowed as he wondered why nobody seemed to be considering the obvious. “A faerie did it. Who else could get past you all and all the way up here?”

They stared at him again, and suddenly he felt far stupider than he had seconds ago.

“A faerie,” Borra repeated, eyebrows raising towards his hairline.

“No faerie would betray their kind,” Shrike insisted angrily.

“Actually -“ Udo began, but he was cut off by Merin aggressively raising her hand to silence them.

The short, old faerie stared at Diaval in that disconcerting and shrewd way of impatient elders, and then she poked at him with her twisted wooden staff in the manner one might hope to poke a dead creature back to life. 

“Boy,” she rasped at him, prodding him right in the belly. “Look around you. What do you see?”

Diaval did just that. Trying to turn his thoughts away from the fact their attention was still on him, he looked about the stone ring, at the statues, at the stone raven that had shown him that curious vision. He remembered how the ravens had scattered from its head as if struck by fear, how they had flown into the trees … _ Ravens_.

Right. They were surrounded by hundreds of potential witnesses, and who could commune better with them than he? With a smile of realisation, he turned to his Mistress and gestured fluidly down at himself.

“Mis- err … eficent. Maleficent. If you would be so kind as to change me.”

The faerie nodded and flicked two fingers. 

As soon as the transformation was done, Diaval flew into the woods and hopped from tree to tree until he found a raven pair huddled in their large nest. They seemed nervous, so he approached slowly and lowered the scruff of his hackle in order to look as passive as possible.

Simpler than fae and humans they might have been, but corvids still had their own form of language. It was basic and most of it was performed by their bodies and by clicking their beaks. Aware that he was not a member of this particular unkindness, Diaval introduced himself with a low bow and he cawed and made the relevant movements that could ask the question:

_ Who stole the emerald? _

The mated pair regarded him in silence. The feathers on their heads rose. They seemed ready to either fight or flee their home at any moment. 

Giving up on them, he sought a lone female who stood strangely still on her branch. Hopping forth, Diaval waved a wing in front of her beak and was disturbed when she did not so much as blink, so fearful was she that she was trapped in a trance-like state. He had seen similar looks in kin that had been chased down by hounds or other predators.

The temperature was bitter in the shadows of the woods.

Becoming desperate, he flew from tree to tree and beseeched the help of all members of the unkindness that he could find, but the outcome was always the same - they were too scared to talk. Perturbed, he flew back down to the inside of the stone ring where the faerie leaders gathered and squawked at Maleficent for her attention. 

At once, he resumed his man-shape and stood up, brushing himself free of dead leaves and twigs.

“Somethin’s wrong with ‘em,” he admitted, taking his place within the circle. “They’re behaving strangely. Something has happened to scare them, I think, or somebody’s threatened them into secrecy. They’re …” he drifted off, dark eyes flitting about the trees. “I don’t know. Hurt. They won’t talk.”

The fae looked exasperated. Merin sighed and leaned on her staff, shaking her head.

“I thought so. They have not come near me since it was stolen.”

“This is foolishness,” Borra snarled incredulously. “While we stand here talking to ravens, the emerald rests in the wrong hands. We must search the home of every winged creature in the Moors until it’s back where it belongs.”

“And the human kingdoms. The Moors and the humans are friends,” Shrike said with equal severity.

“Maleficent,” murmured Udo, his tone deep and as gentle as sleet. There was a strangely pained look to his pale eyes. “The Phoenix Emerald is our strongest weapon and your inheritance. It must only ever be used by your lineage. Your power is able to control the rage within it. If any of our own kind have taken it, I fear the worst.”

Maleficent’s jaw was tense. Diaval knew perfectly that look. It meant that she was either angry or overwhelmed and doing her utmost not to show it. Side-stepping closer to her, he leaned in and muttered:

“Are there any faeries unaccounted for?”

She took a moment to consider that, her red lips pursing in thought. 

“Many of them have already left the caves to move out into the world again. Any of them could have taken it. Send out faeries to find the sorcerers and witches that have already left,” she commanded the others. “The emerald won’t be of much use to anyone else but them. We must find scouts at once.”

The faeries inclined their heads. To Diaval’s amazement, they opened their wings without another word and abandoned the stone ring for the dull skies - including Maleficent, who had either forgotten he was there entirely or simply did not think it important that he came with her. 

“Er, Mistress? Maleficent?!” He called, jogging off after her but finding his voice drowned out by the beating of wings. Wings that _ he _ currently did not have. Vexed to have been left behind - he _really_ hated when she left him in an elevated place without wings - he kicked at the dirt and rounded back to the eerie statues - and was surprised to see that Borra had remained behind. 

The faerie wore a curious smirk. Diaval stood his ground when the other man approached, gritting his teeth when a solid, muscular arm was slung about his shoulders in such a way that might have appeared friendly to any onlooker, but Diaval could feel the strength in that arm and the talons on the fingers that dug into his chest. 

“Impressive,” Borra said, hugging Diaval into his side as if they were old friends. “Her, I mean. You saw her up there above the castle that day, right? The Phoenix. Enormous and magnificent. Legendary. She didn’t know what she was when she found you, a tiny little raven.”

Entirely unsure what he had done to earn this particular faerie’s contempt, Diaval tried to pull himself out of the iron hold, but only found himself being drawn in closer. It was a display of strength, he realised, one he was not capable of escaping from. It was a thinly veiled threat, and he thought about what he might have said or done to have warranted it, though came up short. He hadn’t done anything offensive enough to deserve any of it.

Other than exist, of course. Perhaps it was offensive to Borra that Maleficent, esteemed guardian of their people, took advice from a bird one might find at the bottom of their garden pecking at worms. 

An old, feral instinct told Diaval to peck aggressively at his assailant’s eyes. A newer, more rational instinct told him that would be a very bad idea. If Borra chose to lob him off the edge of the island, he might make a very handsome splat on the ground with no wings to save him. 

“I think she also gave you an order,” he said carefully, uncomfortable with the proximity. “Things to do. Emeralds to find, and all that.”

“You don’t know her, blackbird,” Borra offered, and he finally released Diaval’s neck. Spreading his sandy wings, he took a few steps backwards until the great stone head of the vulture leered over his. “Her own people should be heard unchallenged by the one who whispers in her ear. Maybe one of yours took it. Your kind like pretty things, don’t they?” The faerie laughed, then took himself into the air with a single movement of his powerful wings. “You’d better work harder. She’s outgrowing you.”

Borra soared off after the others then, leaving Diaval alone in the woods with only his thoughts and that mysterious ache in his heart for company.


	3. I Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the feedback, I truly appreciate it so much!

Maleficent returned when dusk began to fall. 

Diaval had exhausted every possible activity on the woodland mesa. He had tried talking to the ravens again, not to glean any information but to try and comfort them, but his words had fallen on deaf ears - they either clicked aggressively at him and flew off or they cowered in the nooks and crannies of the tree trunks. He had poked around the stone ring in search of any clues but came up short. Several hours in, he gave up and made a daisy chain, instead, talking to whatever curious animals happened across him.

Wearing the daisy chain upon his head like a crown, he sat cross-legged on the empty pedestal and leant against the stone raven. When a large, black butterfly landed on his hand, he raised it to eye level and straightened his features into something dramatically regal.

“I need your help, Diaval,” he said, a fair impersonation of Maleficent that went unappreciated, as far as he knew. “I need your advice, _ bird _, and then I’ll leave you stranded on a strange island where somebody already wants to kill you. Oh, no matter, I’ll turn you into a butterfly so you can’t complain, you’ll just wiggle those antennae and hope for the -“

“I _ could _ turn you into a butterfly, you know.”

Throwing his hands up in surprise (unintentionally flinging the butterfly somewhere behind him), Diaval quickly sat up and slid off the pedestal to find Maleficent emerging from the dark trees. Sheepish, he moved his hands behind his back and offered the most charming grin he could muster. 

“Mistress! Did you, er -“

“Send the scouts? Yes,” she answered flatly. She had changed since he saw her those hours ago, now wearing her crown and an elegant, glittering black dress that exposed her pale neck and shoulders. Her heavenly skin was positively glowing in the descending twilight. As always, however, her eyes were like daggers, sharp and void of anything one might discern as affection. 

Diaval’s voice caught in his throat. He had been stewing in frustration for hours, and yet just being able to bask in her striking presence again threatened to make that frustration roll off him as swiftly as water. He licked his suddenly dry lips and approached, giving her an appreciative little nod.

“You look lovely,” he managed, his words soft and sincere. “Is it a special occasion?”

“Many of the fae are planning to leave the island and forge new lives elsewhere. They celebrate every night until the day comes that they leave. I thought you might like to see it for yourself.”

“Is there food?” He asked at once, and as if on cue, his stomach grumbled noisily in further complaint. 

The faerie had the decency to at least look somewhat apologetic. It was subtle cues: a brief displeasure followed by a softening of her angular features, and just like that, Diaval was able to place his frustration somewhere in the back of his mind where it would assuredly trickle back from whence it came. 

“I did not mean to be gone for so long. The others were bickering, claiming their own kind the best to scout for the emerald. It took longer to arrange than I’d thought.”

“Does Borra bicker? He seems a bicker-er. Not as good as me, mind.”

“Frequently,” Maleficent assured him, a hint of a smile at her lips. “Never as well as you. Why? Is that why he lingered behind? Did you have an argument?”

“Well. Somethin’ of the sort. It was more him trying to put me in my place, whatever that is over here. A raven is incomparable to a phoenix, blah, blah. Ya know, back home it never really seemed to matter.”

The faerie moved closer, eyeing him impassively. Then, she pouted in a manner so suddenly playful that Diaval was caught off guard.

“Do you want to go home?” She asked lowly, still with that pout, and poor Diaval did not know what to make of the thrill that surged down his spine at that. “Did he frighten you?”

“Oi, now you’re being mean. Of course he did. Have you seen him? He’d crack my skull like a coconut on one of those …” Diaval flexed his arm. “Biceps. Bye, bye, no more Diaval. What would you tell Aurora?”

“I’d tell her you died idiotically.”

“Well, I think that’s a given.”

Maleficent smiled and even laughed at that, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes. 

“I believe it’s a matter of him being intimidated by _ you_. After years of death and oppression, the fae do not trust easily. He might be callous and hot-headed but he is a strong leader who loves his clan.”

Unsure what parts of that he could believe, Diaval leaned in a bit and held her gaze. 

“I think he loves more than just his clan. Do you realise that?”

Maleficent surprised him by laughing again. It was more of an uncertain kind of laugh, however, and decidedly awkward, though he staved off from imitating or teasing her about it, perhaps not realising just how serious he looked about the situation. He was admitting the truth to himself again as much as he was to her: there were those that had their sights set on her, now, eager to traverse the thorny labyrinth of Maleficent’s heart for a chance to be her mate, though it was yet unclear just how _ she _ felt about that. 

“So the fierce and headstrong Borra wants to court me, does he?” She asked, sounding more amused than anything else. “At least, you assume he does.”

“You’re a great beauty, Mistress. And powerful.”

“Is that all?”

“Maybe he thinks he knows what lies underneath but I’m not sure he does. Not yet.”

“Few do. What would you suggest that I do, Diaval?”

Diaval shifted slightly, suspecting that he was supposed to respond with a joke. This was their usual back-and-forth banter, after all. However, even he couldn’t think of a way to turn such a subject into a joke. Did she truly consider herself unlovable enough that she simply found mirth in it? Maybe she had sworn off love entirely, and he hardly would have blamed her; she had confided to him only a few years previously what her first and only lover had done. 

The memory pained him even more than the prospect of forever being a mere servant. The bastard had taken advantage of her and stole her wings, all so that he could bring his delusions into reality. It was no wonder, then, that she looked at the prospect of love as if it were a joke. That was the safest way to look at it, after all. 

Her smile slid away when he did not joke with her. Diaval glanced down between them, hands fiddling, but he then returned her gaze with confidence. 

“Sometimes the wise thing really is to do what makes you happy. You’ve spent years shapin’ a life for young Aurora, and now she’s all grown up and starting a family. You can start thinking of you again.”

The faerie made a thoughtful, dismissive little noise, a single eyebrow raised.

“Hm. Why is it you jest when I want wisdom and then give me wisdom when I want your jesting?”

“Aha! I knew you liked my jokes.” Diaval grinned crookedly, though remained sincere. “_This _ isn’t a joke, though. Not to me.”

Maleficent’s features tightened somewhat, and she looked away. 

“What he holds for me is admiration, not love, Diaval. There is a difference,” she explained, as if he were entirely clueless. Perhaps that was the case sometimes, but not now.

“I know that.”

Her piercing eyes flicked back to him. 

“Do you? Raven?” She challenged.

Diaval gulped, though did not avert his gaze. He momentarily questioned himself. Nobody had ever sat down with him and explained which emotion was which. Some of it he had come into being already knowing. Others, he had just sort of figured out on his own over the years, and perhaps he was not the most reliable advisor in such a regard, but he was fairly certain he knew the difference between love and admiration, because he did feel both for Maleficent. That was _ how _ he had learnt the difference. There was no feasible way of him explaining that, though. He could not explain to her why it irritated him so to be left behind. He could not explain to her why Borra’s words had affected him a fair degree despite a wiser part of him insisting that it had all been nonsense. 

Forced to condense the things he wanted to say and the emotions that drove them down into something more acceptable, he met her head on.

“Yes. You know that. You gave me the potential to learn these things, did you not?” He challenged her right back. “Don’t call me raven just because you don’t want to think I know what - _ caarghh!!_”

He was a raven again before he knew it. It was just like her, wasn’t it? To try and reinforce the very opposite of his words by reducing him to what he was behind the magic and the knowledge. She knew better than that. Didn’t she?

Upset to have been transformed and cut short, he squawked furiously at her from the ground and batted his wings, his smaller body unable to contain the ire of the more human mind within. 

“You do _ not _understand,” Maleficent said firmly. “All you know is what you have seen: young love between Aurora and Phillip.”

_ True love! _ Diaval barked at her, clacking his beak. _ True love between you and Aurora! And I love her. For some reason, I even love you! _

He knew perfectly well what those reasons were; he’d had years to contemplate it.

Infuriated by her stubbornness and that he was being pushed away, Diaval puffed up his dark feathers in a show of disagreement and then flew up to land on Maleficent’s shoulder. Despite his great annoyance, and despite her cold words, his beak rubbed at her cheek in an attempt to comfort any old wounds he had unintentionally opened by bringing the matter up in the first place. 

She dislodged him from her shoulder at once and sent him up into the bitter skies. 

He squawked, increasingly irate though understanding that he had crossed a boundary for the sake of his own insecurity. Flying off down into the valley, he was surprised to hear Maleficent’s wings behind him. There hadn’t been anything left to say on the matter, had there?

* * *

The sound of drums and the heady smell of bonfires emerged in the wind. He headed for the source in the hopes of finding food and eventually came across an enormous gathering on the other side of a mesa. Thousands of Dark Fae celebrated atop large, rocky outcrops that overlooked the sea, mingling and drinking and dancing to hard, percussion-heavy music. It was certainly the biggest party that Diaval had ever seen - he didn’t spend much time around humans and the Moorfolk idea of parties was rather more focused on flowers and feasts and … more flowers.

Intrigued and in need of a distraction, he soared down towards a cluster of forest fae after spotting their leader, Merin, and found himself immediately welcomed by a group of delighted young faeries. Maleficent had said they held his kind in high regard, after all, and he was easily receptive to their curiosity and attention, allowing the children to stroke carefully at his feathers.

Maleficent landed close by. She did not join the group, instead choosing to sit alone by the nearest bonfire and observe the festivities, her figure poised and elegant. With the faintest twitch of her finger, Diaval was transformed. 

He appeared as a man with flourish, lowering into a sweeping bow before the children after a deft spin. 

“Diaval, at your service,” he said to them, then cast his gaze to the adults celebrating beyond. There was something primal about the way they danced: it was rhythmic and yet chaotic, they chose to move how they wanted to rather than by adhering to certain rules like humans tended to. Others drank from bowls or large shells and picked at enormous piles of fruit. Some sat in circles, silent and with their hands raised towards the sky or touching the ground, one with the waves beating against the rocks below. 

Intrigued, Diaval assimilated easily among them. They asked him questions about his adventures with Maleficent and what it was like being a raven that could think and talk in the way people did. They involved him in their conversations and their jokes without eyeing him with suspicion, or talking to him with derision. It was strange, he thought, that they seemed more at home with what he was than even himself, all because their ancestral homeland was shared with ravenkind.

Some of them wore totems of all kinds of birds and other animals. Merin, the elder, had little stone ravens braided into her long, greying hair, and her leaf-green eyes watched him from afar every now and then, a touch of amusement on her face. She gestured, and a pretty faerie by her side quickly picked up a bowl of fruit and shyly walked over to offer it to him. 

Starved, he took it and smiled his thanks at her. The girl stared at him, wide-eyed, and then her wings did something strange - they raised a little and spread out either side of her, fluttering as though there was a breeze. Diaval picked out a handful of berries and watched her as he hungrily devoured them, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Absyl! You stop that at once!” Merin called over, waving her staff threateningly in the air. “Pester some other young man!”

The girl giggled quietly and raced off, wings folding behind her back.

Somewhat nervous, Diaval made his way over to the elder, followed by the gaggle of children that were still fascinated by him. One of them insisted on holding his hand when he knelt down, and she proceeded to copy everything that he did after that. Another one tugged at his sleeve as if to ask a question, though when he received his attention he proceeded to laugh among his friends as though there was a great joke in trying to pester him. They only looked adorable while doing it. 

Lobbing berries at them in response, they made a game of it: they’d tug at him and he’d throw something at them. It warmed his heart. It reminded him of the Moors, which suddenly felt very far away. It reminded him of Aurora, who had played a similar game with him when she was tiny, tugging at his feathers and laughing raucously when he stomped his black feet in response. ‘Bird’ had been one of the first words she’d learnt.

Maybe he shouldn’t have left her side at all.

“They’ve never seen a man-shaped raven, before,” Merin informed him. “Neither have I, come to think of it. Forgive Absyl, will you? She’s only just come of age. Thinks she can show her mating dance to any pretty thing that crosses her path.”

Diaval had chosen the wrong time to shove another handful of berries into his mouth. He choked and spluttered them back out again.

“What?” He croaked in dismay. Merin just laughed at him, her mouth falling open to expose her fangs. The sound was truly more of a cackle than anything else, full of genuine mirth at poor Diaval’s expense and the berry juice dribbling down his chin. He quickly wiped it off with his hand and stared indignantly at the elder. “She knows I’m a bird, right? Should I tell her?” Perturbed when Merin’s laughter just deepened, Diaval raised his eyebrows and handed off his bowl to the children so that they might entertain themselves. 

“Can’t something be a bird and a person all at once?” Merin posed to him. “You have the power of thought and speech. You have been all manner of beasts. Your name is known across kingdoms. The forest fae take notice of such an accomplished raven. Mori’ka was our father spirit.”

He wanted to find the situation as amusing as she did, but he couldn’t. Grimacing, he shuffled a bit closer to her for safety. Oddly, Diaval’s thoughts turned to the stone ring and the four treasure-bearing statues within it, and he remembered the disturbing vision of dark blood drowning the earth upon touching the stone raven.

“Who’s that?” He asked, though kept his eyes peeled in case Absyl decided to return and flutter her wings at him again. He would simply have to keep on feigning ignorance. 

The elder stopped chuckling to herself. She regarded him with a moment of confusion. 

“Mori’ka was a woodland spirit. All of you should know his name. I suppose you forgot it.” Merin briefly glanced towards the dark silhouette of Maleficent. “The humans thought him the embodiment of Death itself, but when he protected the Phoenix’s eggs, he was slain for it. His blood spilled across the woods, fed the trees and their fruit. The ravens nested there and ate that fruit and it blessed them with their cunning. He lives on in your kind, just as he lives on through the forest fae. I suppose your presence here brings that tale to life for those that look at you. They know how close you are with our own Phoenix, you see.”

“Feels like more of a job, sometimes,” Diaval grumbled. “It’s not like that. I’m not some - some spirit creature. I’m a familiar. Just a raven. She doesn’t even listen to me half the time, it’s a nightmare, you know.”

Merin laughed again at that, though not unkindly.

“Easy to say you’re _ just _ something, isn’t it? Some might look at me and say I’m just an old woman, and that is what I am, but I’m also a spiritual leader and elder because of the things I have done and learnt. If you ask me, a _ just a raven _ that raises the human child of another as his own daughter can also be called a man. In chosen parenthood, you have an equality with Maleficent that nobody else does, despite what you are.” Raising her staff, she pointed in the direction of Maleficent. “Boy, why _ are _ you here when you could be over there?”

Past the playing and dancing faeries, Diaval could see his Mistress just beyond. Alone. She had been the whole time, aside from the odd word to a passer-by. Younger, more daring fae approached in the vain hope they might catch her attention, but she did not seem to even see them, just gazing into the bonfire as if lost in her own world. There was an old sorrow to her eyes that broke Diaval, and an instinct to serve - no, to comfort her flared deep within him, overpowering the self-doubt that might have kept him from going to her sooner. 

The music changed. Somewhere beyond, in an area that he couldn’t see, the soft song of pipes sounded as if from another world. Some sort of harp joined in, and then soft drums. As the pleasant but sad trill of the song filled the smoky air, Diaval stood - and then Maleficent stood from where she had been sat, too, as if she had heard him. They looked at each other. _ Had _she heard him? Had she heard the entire conversation?

If such was the case, she did not seem angry. Unsure, perhaps. She stared unblinkingly at him as he approached and joined her by the enormous fire, perhaps trying to scare him off, but it didn’t work. Her admirable attempts to frighten him through the years had rarely, if ever, actually been successful.

Because he knew her and her pain better than anyone else. 

They stood in companionable silence for a short time as glowing embers rained down all around. Maleficent gradually relaxed when an argument did not ensue between them, her exposed shoulders dropping a little way. Tearing her gaze from him at last, she turned to face the fire, the gold of its reflection burning in her eyes. 

“Please don’t turn me into a raven,” Diaval murmured once he had somehow gathered his courage. Observing their surroundings and the change in the fae, he swallowed nervously. It was a stark change to the feral dancing and pounding drums. They were together in pairs, their horns touching and sometimes interlocked. “Look. They’re dancing together.”

“So they are,” Maleficent responded in a terse tone. 

“Do you want to?”

“What? With you?”

“If it pleases you.”

“It does not. I do not _ dance_, Diaval.”

The shapeshifter vaguely gestured behind him with a movement of his head.

“If not me, I can help you pick out from the line you’ve got going.”

Indeed, the more persistent of interested fae were lingering nearby, chancing glances at them both every now and again. Maleficent did not turn to look. She was likely already very aware. In response, she raised her head and turned to walk away, moving away from the fires and the dancers towards the sea. Surprisingly, she did not take off at the edge of the island but instead headed down a slippery stone path, her form stark and beautiful against the roaring blackness of the sea before vanishing. 

That she hadn’t flown away or transformed him was a good sign. Diaval gave her a head start and then followed, taking care not to slip over on the path lest he fell into the sea and was dashed against the rocks. At the bottom of the path was an opening shrouded by seaweed, and he curiously poked his head past it to find a long abandoned cave within the jagged rock. Below the ledge, the sea had found its way in and slapped noisily against the stone, but the gentle music of above could be heard just beyond it.

Maleficent stood alone in the dimness. The cave was lit only by the moonlight seeping in past the seaweed at the entrance and by her natural radiance. She looked over her shoulder at Diaval, and now that she was not within the sights of her people, she looked vulnerable there despite all her sharp lines and her dark ensemble. 

“I do not know how,” she admitted once he was inside the cave with her. “There are many things to being a faerie I still do not know. Often here it feels as though I simply …” her head tilted, and she turned to him. “I simply look like one.”

“You’ll learn, Mistress,” Diaval said quickly. “You will. I’ll fly around and pick up their customs and I’ll report back to you if needs be. I’m good at picking things up by watching.”

“Yes. That’s all you have been able to do.” The faerie gave him a complicated look, then, peering down her nose at him. Still, that vulnerability was there laid out for him to see, and he was suddenly reminded of the very first time he had seen her. Not as a human, but as a raven, when he had flown down and spotted her alone and full of sorrow in that dark cave. 

Even then, he had understood that she needed a friend. Just as she needed one now. Irregardless of how she considered him, there was nobody else on the island that could fill that spot like he could.

“Mistress -“

“Did you pick it up, then?” Maleficent interrupted. “Their dance.”

Stunned, Diaval dawdled a moment, and then drifted forwards to stop a small distance from her. He raised his hands and tried to copy what he had seen, the way the faeries had held each other’s hands close to their hearts, fingers interlocked, only his hands were empty as he showed her. 

“Yes. Hands like this, horns touching, and just sort of … swaying, I suppose. One for the mated pairs, maybe. I think that birds and Dark Fae even humans have that in common - the whole dancing thing. It says somethin’ words sometimes can’t.”

Maleficent hummed in agreement. “Like Absyl.”

Cringing, Diaval ran a hand down his face, though tried to find the humour in the turn of events. He shrugged and attempted a smile to hide his embarrassment, feigning nonchalance. 

“Yes, right. Different dances. I can’t show you that one, I don’t have wings.”

“You have no interest?”

“In what? Dancin’? I don’t really know what I’m doing, either, but I can -“

“In the girl, Diaval.”

Looking back to that awkward moment, he tried to consider her question simply because she seemed invested in it, even if he already knew the answer. His lips parted wordlessly in a moment of sheer disbelief. All it had been was an innocent gesture and something of a misunderstanding, nothing as serious as what his Mistress seemed to think it was. Or was she just toying with him? If she was, it was superbly difficult to tell. 

“What? No. I’m not interested in her. Just ‘cause she waved her wings at me a bit?”

The faerie didn’t seem to be listening. 

“You’ve been different, Diaval. Ever since the wedding. I thought about it, and now I realise why your … _ temperament _ has been unbalanced.”

“My … Wait, what?” He asked, completely clueless. “Mistress -“

“Don’t pretend. Not with me. You’re angry.” She said this so calmly that it didn’t seem real. “We always argued often, but now it’s different. I understand. It’s been over twenty years. There are things that you must want to change.”

Struggling to come to terms with what was being said, he just gaped at her.

Where embers and ash had fallen on them before, it was now cold droplets of seawater as the waves crashed below. Without the bonfires and the crowds, there was a strange chill to the air that blew in with the wind, howling lowly past the rim of the cave and the stalactites over their heads. It numbed his fingers, though he couldn’t notice, too far gone within his own rampant thoughts. He was terrified by whatever it was Maleficent might have to say next, so he desperately tried to think of an answer she might accept. 

The truth, perhaps. The most terrifying thing of all. Maybe he could get away with only part of it. 

“I don’t want to be your servant anymore,” he admitted, though panicked when he saw her lips part in surprise. “What I mean is - I mean I don’t want to _ be _ a servant anymore. Not, er … officially. Sometimes … it does seem as though it’s more, and then you say different. You won’t let me get close. You’ll just fly off or turn me into something that can’t talk.”

“I will never stop you from seeking partnership, Diaval. I do not expect you to reject advances.”

Diaval sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re not listenin’. It’s not about _ them - _“

“ - you should be able to choose a mate once you’re ready -“

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I just said you can.”

The flames of anger ignited almost immediately. How could one person be so incredibly infuriating? So - dare he even _ think _ it - obtuse? The truth was there in his eyes, he just knew it, but maybe she was the one who did not understand. Maybe she, the strongest faerie alive and descendant of the Phoenix herself, was incapable of understanding or accepting something that he knew so well it was agonising to keep bottled up inside. 

“I can’t,” Diaval repeated, his voice strained and raspy with it. “It’s impossible.”

“How? You said yourself that I did not make you incapable of understanding.” 

The cork was slipping loose. Diaval clenched his fists and stared at her, feeling a cold sweat start to break out on his brow. A nervous sickness formed in his belly. 

“Ravens make lifelong bonds,” he answered weakly, and he strongly considered high-tailing it out of the cave rather than face her try to figure out what he meant. “It’s nothin’, it doesn’t matter, Mistress. I was just scared that you wouldn’t need me anymore now that you’ve found your people. That’s why I was angry. I didn’t mean to -“

“Did I take you from a mate when I transformed you?” Maleficent pressed. Her tone was impassive. Not good. There was a crease to her brow that he had never seen before. “Did I take you from your family?”

“No, you … you _ gave _ me a family. You …” Diaval swallowed thickly, feeling a tremor in his muscles that had nothing to do with the cold. He groaned. The berries really weren’t sitting well in his stomach. All of his anger forgotten in the face of sheer terror, he took a few nervous steps back towards the cave’s entrance. “I - that is, my instincts, or somethin’ … no, not that, but - I was your wings for a time, you remember, and then we - I helped you raise a child, so my raven self is sort of settled on, well … ” An ice cold sensation raced across his skin, and he froze up. “It’s you.”

He saw the moment everything clicked into place, and he thought that this gloomy cave would possibly be his place of demise within the next ten seconds. Expecting to see a threatening green glow of magic rising within her eyes, it only startled him when nothing of the sort occurred. Not yet, at least. She stared at him, beautiful but blank, and it was impossible to know what was going through her thoughts. Creative methods of torture, perhaps? Anything would be better than exile by that point, and he still hadn’t even admitted the full truth. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he found himself saying again, filling the silence. “Nothin’ has to change. I’m happy with the way things are. All I want is to exist with you and Aurora and for you both to be happy. As soon as we’ve found the emerald, I’m gonna go and serve the Queen of the Moors, as is my duty. If I can’t be your wings, then I’ll be hers. I said that to her. I promised I’d -“

Maleficent took a full step closer to him. Somehow, he found the courage not to shrink away but to remain shock still, even with her beautiful but fearsome face threatening within inches of his. Those fangs and wings could do serious damage if she willed it, but far more devastating was the potential of her magic. The nature of her magic was that she could take away as much as she could give, and she had given him everything.

“That was why you were so concerned about Borra,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You couldn’t stand the thought.”

“I’ve known you to be in pain for so long, Mistress. All I want is for you to be happy. Really. Your smile - it puts the Sun to shame. Also, Borra could probably kill me with a mere flick of a wing, so I was also concerned about that. But mostly you.” His numb hands began to fiddle at his sleeves. “I know what love is. Maleficent. People learn what it is when they fall in love. I do understand. We can just leave it at that and never speak of it again.”

He could still hear the music and the distant voices of fae outside. The sea was relentless against the rocks. He committed it all to memory, just in case it was the last one he had of this place. Maleficent looked just as numb as he felt, though he did feel a strange sense of relief now that his feelings were out in the open. It had been unexpected, but there they were, plain in his dark eyes for the faerie to read at her leisure. 

Her hands were still warm. Magic, maybe. He learnt that when they slowly came to his cheeks, strong and tense and impossible to break free from. She was in the perfect position to either kiss him or snap his neck. It was difficult to tell which option was tempting her more.

Her face was warm, too. He learnt that when one of her hands lowered and her velvety cheek moved in to graze his. She was in the perfect position to bite him if she so wanted, but it slowly became apparent that her goal was not to hurt him or wreak vengeance for the lines he had crossed. Instead, her face moved about his, softly inhaling and brushing her cheeks and nose against him. Diaval could only remain still, coming to terms with the fact that nothing bad was happening. The world had not ended. She was touching him in that curious way and it brought heat to his chilled cheeks and palms.

Her hand was on his chest. She could surely feel the violently rampant thrumming of his heart beneath it. His own hands ached to touch her in return, and as his wonder and confidence grew, he moved his arm around her and placed his touch, gentle but solid, on the small of her back. They came together fully and Maleficent’s taut hand relaxed against his cheek, cupping it with a gentility few knew that she was capable of. In swift response, his face pushed eagerly into the softness of her palm and he inhaled sharply when her thumb moved over his lower lip and left a trail of fire in its wake.

“Mistress,” he breathed, barely a whisper, so caught up in his fear and love and disbelief that the outside world was entirely forgotten. “Are you -“

A kiss stole the words from his mouth. 

It had been slow. Tentative, even. Too much.

Embarrassingly, his nerves peaked and the sick feeling in his stomach seemed to culminate with a sudden fogginess. A highly inconvenient light-headedness sent his knees dropping from beneath him and he found himself on all fours as the world swam around him. He had been furious, then terrified. Infatuated, even if he was yet to learn what that meant in its entirety. Years of a slowly building pressure and a fear of the truth was released like a tightly wound valve.

Was this the typical human reaction to returned affection? If so, Aurora and Phillip had hidden it very well.

His lips tingled. Hers had been soft against them, and her skin smelt like a crisp Autumn evening. Somewhat overwhelmed by the new sensations, he blindly allowed himself to be pushed back onto his behind by the hand on his face, every thought exiting his mind in favour of feeling these strange human things. His hands slid down her arms and detected the slightest chill, so he quickly undid his cloak and pulled it underneath her wings and around her.

It ended up covering both of them, eventually, when they laid on their sides on the floor of the cave and gave themselves to an age old need for touch, reassurance, and affection. None of it felt real. Poor Diaval felt to be in a pleasant trance, wrapped around Maleficent as much as she was wrapped around him, his hands firm about her slight waist. When they kissed it was sometimes a bit clumsy, but as they learned and explored, it became warm and slow and entirely pleasant. 

It was a dream. It had to be. A dream that they somehow walked together.

As it went on, Diaval was subject to all sorts of things he had never had to think about often or feel before. It felt like a hot flush occupied his entire body. It was like anger but not anger, heated and raging, a starving bear bound in chains. It was difficult to think about anything other than what he felt, the things he wanted to feel, and yet the niggle of doubt managed to sneak its way into an unseen entrance, unwelcome. 

She had not said anything to assuage his fears. It had all happened so suddenly and he did not feel entirely himself, his thoughts scattered and jumbled in his mixture of doubt and unbridled want. Were his affections truly met or was he now just serving her in a different way? Had she listened to him at all? As her hand crept to the back of his head and pulled at his hair, he growled and knew that if he didn’t stop them where they were at, they might delve deeper than what they were ready for.

Too fast.

“Are you -“ he tried again between kisses, though his hands slid up her back in reluctance to let go. Sharp nails pulled across his upper back in turn and he shivered. Caught in a flurry of new passions, he found her wings and touched them, first gliding them up along the strong bases and then into her beautiful feathers, feeling the brilliant strength of them between his fingers. 

It was a mistake. 

Something thudded into his stomach. With a hard _ ‘oof’_, Diaval pulled off of Maleficent and curled in on himself in an attempt to ease the dull pain now throbbing at his gut. She parted from him as if she had never really been there in the first place, shooting to the other side of the cave with her wings tightly drawn in to her body. 

Realising quickly that something was wrong, he sat up and looked at her with dismay. She looked vulnerable, though only for a few short seconds. Her eyes moved over him, taking in his rumpled appearance and then looking down at herself, her arms wrapping around her body. Then, the green of her power manifested around her like a protective cocoon and it lit the entire space with its brilliant colour, an ample warning to any that might dare approach. 

Maleficent was wild with a sudden fury. Devastated to see tears forming in her eyes, Diaval only made things worse by standing up and trying to go to her. 

“Mistress -“

“Don’t you DARE touch me again!” The faerie bellowed in the most cold, commanding tone that he had ever heard. 

That brilliant green power struck him and transformed him back into a raven before he could even protest. It took longer and was more uncomfortable than usual. Dismayed, he scrambled to his feet and hopped away to a safer distance by the cave entrance. 

Her wings. He had touched her wings. They hadn’t talked, hadn’t communicated what was right and what was wrong. They hadn’t properly discussed what might have been driving a wedge between them since Aurora’s wedding, and now it seemed they probably never would. 

“If you don’t want to serve me, then go!” Maleficent demanded, shielding herself with her wings. “Go far away from here, Diaval! Foolish bird! There is not a man alive that I can trust. Take your wretched love and give it to one who can stand it! Get OUT!” A rare tear slipped down her cheek, and that image of her was the last he would have. 

Beside himself, he barely reacted as another bolt of green magic sent him hurtling out of the cave in a ball of feathers and smoke. His wings opened before he could go crashing into the freezing waves below, and desperate to do as she wanted and separate from her as quickly as possible, the raven flew madly up into the sky. It didn’t matter which direction he was going. With all the guilt and shock he felt, it would have been easier to just fall into the stormy sea.

He had felt a curious ache in his heart before now. It had hurt, but never like this. Now it felt like there was a hole and his heart was exposed to all the cruel elements of the world. The pain in his chest was so terrible, so gut wrenching and miserable, that there was a period in which he lost control of his thoughts entirely. In an attempt to run from the pain, he sank into his raven-shape and allowed its simpler instincts to take over, flying far out across the sea until the island was no longer visible behind him.

* * *

At the heart of the storm, the sea was calm. The moon and stars glittered like diamonds on its black surface. Somewhere deep inside the raven, it felt an agonising grief.

Its sorrowful calls went unheard for days.


	4. Servant’s Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely blown away by the response this has gotten. Thank you all AGAIN!! You guys are the beating heart keeping this going. Thanks so much.

The ancestral home of the Dark Fae was shrouded in darkness. 

It had happened suddenly. The festivities were not even close to finishing when a wave of powerful, green magic swallowed the island whole and cast it into shadow. The bonfires were snuffed out, the musical instruments were broken, and the fae felt a terrible sorrow arise deep within them that gave them pause. 

They stood in silence, looking at each other wonderingly. Even the moon seemed less bright up there in the darkness, like somebody had reached up and taken its lustre for themselves. From the sea, there was a bitter wind, one that sung to the tundra fae in particular. Their leader, Udo, reached out to pull a single snowflake from the air. 

It was supposed to be the height of Summer. 

* * *

The green blast of magic, short-lived as it had been, could even be seen from the Moors. At the Old Port, sea sprites stood on the sand and watched the swirling storm of dangerous magic burst into being across the sea, entranced by its awful beauty. When the magic disappeared, they whispered urgently together in their simple language, and then started pushing at each other. Well, one of them had to go and tell the Queen! None of them, however, had the heart to worry her. Green magic only ever meant one thing. 

Maleficent was upset. 

They argued for some time, not thinking of the potential urgency of the situation. As they did, something approached within the waves, a deathly pale shape that might have appeared something akin to a corpse were it not moving. When it reached the shore, it slyly approached and crawled towards the sprites with its hands, hissing in their language through its eel-like teeth. 

A mermaid. Ceasing their arguing at once out of sheer terror, the sprites hid behind the largest of them and tremored, reluctantly listening to what the creature had to say. 

It spoke of rumours. They liked rumours. What else did they have to talk about after hundreds of years of the same old shoreline? The mermaid spun a tale of all it had heard, all it had seen: the home of the Dark Fae was smothered in despair. Maleficent had been hurt, it said. Her sorrow pervaded the very earth and even the sea.

Frightened, the sprites ran to the trees and told them, instead, who in turn told the birds. The birds told the fairies and then the fairies told the flower pixies Knotgrass and Thistlewit (who had a flair for the dramatic). The pixies, quickly assuming the worst and that Maleficent was wounded and all sorts of terrible things, fluttered into Aurora’s court and were sorry to turn the Queen’s radiant smile into a frown.

Phillip was there, too, looking a little bit out of his depth but was supportive nonetheless. Aurora reached out and gripped his hand as the news was hurriedly relayed to her. 

“What manner of creature could possibly hurt Maleficent?” She asked quietly, greatly upset by what she had heard. 

“Oh, we don’t know, your Majesty!” Knotgrass panicked, flying this way and that. “Maybe a dragon! Oh, what if it comes flying over here?!”

“Don’t say that, Knotgrass! You’ll jinx it!” Argued Thistlewit, her large eyes now even larger with anxiety. 

Aurora shook her head. “My mother could handle a dragon.”

“Um, what about a dragon with iron?” Offered Thistlewit cluelessly, though went ignored.

Heaving herself off the throne, Aurora gazed worriedly up at the sky. She knew well enough what kind of creature could hurt Maleficent, though it pained her to acknowledge it.

Man. And they did not always wield iron alone. 

The Queen’s worry would have sent her running off to the nearest shore to find a boat of some kind were she able. Maybe she _ was _ still able. Heading towards the woods, it took Phillip running to stand in front of her for her to actually stop. He took her hands into his, and she looked up at him with tearful but stubborn eyes. 

“I have to help her, Phillip. Let me go.”

“No,” the prince said at once, gesturing at her swollen belly. “I’ll go in your stead. Can the fairies fashion a boat?”

“I …” Aurora squeezed his hands, desperate. “We can go together. It must be serious if she hasn’t flown here. Even Diaval - he would be here by now. What if -“

“It’s alright. She’s alright. I’ll go to the Dark Fae and -“

“There’s no need for that.”

Finding themselves interrupted by a familiar voice, they turned to see a faerie emerging from the trees. They recognised him as Borra, the well-meaning but reckless leader of the desert fae, and the sight of him filled Aurora with a wave of relief. She released Phillip’s hands and rushed to the winged one with great urgency, acknowledging the short bow of his head with one of her own. 

“It’s not true, is it? Is my mother alright?” 

“Unharmed. I suppose.” Borra said with casual air, though his jaw was taut and a muscle in his neck was twitching with poorly restrained anger. He folded his arms and entered the woodland court, taking in all the fairies and pixies present with some interest. “She’s upset. I imagine you saw it there across the sea. She won’t talk to any of us. I thought that if _ you _ went -“

“Aurora is with child,” Phillip insisted, polite but firm. “Tell Maleficent to fly here to see her, instead.” As a nervous second thought when the faerie raised his eyebrows at him, he added, “Please.”

“I did suggest that. She would not listen when we found her alone in that cave, shaking like a leaf. Neither would she tell us what happened, though it did start to become more than a bit clear.” Borra’s temple throbbed. He turned back to the Queen, eyes narrowing. “She was betrayed. Hurt. The only beings that can possibly hurt the Phoenix are the ones closest to her. The ones that can get close. Your … _ servant_. The raven. Conveniently, he is nowhere to be found. And now we’re left to pick up the pieces as well as search for our lost treasure - which, by the way, is _ also _ nowhere to be found.”

Aurora’s heart dropped. Quickly putting together what the faerie seemed to be implying, she shook her head. He was wrong. Maybe such a terrible assumption made sense to the fae, but it didn’t make sense to _ her. _It sounded more a rendition of a nightmare, a twisted tale, one designed to place blame where blame was not due. 

“That’s not it. I know it isn’t. There has to be something else. We can’t just blame people without due cause! Diaval is a trusted member of my court and he is loyal to Maleficent, he never would have -“

“And how do you know that?”

“How do _ you _know he was responsible?”

Borra smiled, though it wasn’t out of amusement.

“Because of what he is,” he murmured, his yellow eyes alight within the dimness of night. “We have no time for tricksters and troublemakers. Ravens would steal from my clan in the days of old. You might imagine that resources are precious somewhere as dangerous as the desert. Your pest of a friend no doubt learnt of the Phoenix Emerald and he hurt Maleficent to keep her off his back.”

“That’s not true, Borra,” Aurora said at once, upset but willing to stubbornly defend until she was proved wrong. “He never would have hurt her. Never. He never would have betrayed you - nor me. I swear to you. The easiest option is not always the right one.” 

Desperate, she looked within herself for the answer, but it eluded her. If she was not careful, _ she _ would be the one betraying her family if she could not successfully defend them. She had turned her back on them before, foolishly believing that they were as wicked as the humans said, but Aurora knew. She _ knew_. They were not wicked. They were good and kind-hearted. She had never truly stopped believing it. 

“He loves her,” she managed, reluctant to speak it aloud before the court but feeling it necessary. “He would never leave us. Not by choice.”

“Love isn’t really the domain of birds, is it? Or are things different here on the mainland? If he loves her so much, why has he left her alone? Where is he now? Where is the emerald he was supposed to help us find?”

“I - I don’t know,” the Queen said calmly, though worry tugged painfully at her heart. “I’m sorry, Borra. I can’t accuse anyone without good reason. I fear you have misjudged Diaval’s character on the basis of what he is, much as the humans did to you.”

Borra made to argue back, then stopped himself. There was a second where he seemed just as uncertain and fearful as Aurora felt, though he was older and more experienced at concealing it than she; he was a desert stone, worn down by sand and cold winds, but underneath the hard, dusty exterior, there was a faerie who cared. She could see it in him, much as she had seen the goodness in Maleficent and Diaval. It was unquestionable. 

And it was thanks to Maleficent and Diaval that Aurora was wiser than many suspected. Maleficent had taught her not to back down from the things that threatened her, to believe in her own abilities and to lead with both firmness and grace. Diaval had taught her the importance of balance and fairness, loyalty, and the power behind laughter. They were so different to one another, the pair of them, and yet they had worked so well together because of it. 

It hurt to think of them. Aurora’s mind tried to spiral and show her the worst possible scenarios it could conjure, but they were thoughts that she could not allow. She had a kingdom to rule, and she was now faced with one of the most serious problems that had befallen the Moors: the guardian of the lands had fallen into silence. Not only that, Borra had assumed himself accuser and dashed Diaval’s name in the mud in front of the entire court. 

He considered Aurora’s words, however, his jaw working side to side as he started to pace. Fairies moved fearfully out of the way as he stalked among them, though they did not move far, fascinated to see another of Maleficent’s kind. 

“Fine. Then we will wait to hear the truth from Maleficent,” he growled. “I’ll tell her to come to you. I doubt she would leave her pregnant daughter alone for long. Get her to talk to you. The Phoenix Emerald is dangerous in the hands of those who might abuse its power.”

Aurora was frightened. Fearful. She was also _ very _ stubborn. Stepping up to Borra (and finding that he was much taller and much bigger than her), she squared her shoulders and stared up at him with such indignance that nearby fairies gasped and cowered. 

“I will do it,” she said tersely, staring the faerie down. “Of course I will, but not because you tell me to. I do not exist to be ordered around. I am here to care for the Moorfolk and I will gladly aid your people, but you will _ not _ talk to me in such a way again.”

The Queen glared and Borra’s harsh frown lifted into something of a smile. It was intimidating at first and the cowering fairies squeaked with fear, but then he huffed with laughter and put them somewhat at ease. 

“You _ are _ a daughter of Maleficent,” he observed, apparently impressed. “I had my doubts when I saw a rosy-cheeked girl with flowers in her hair. Maybe I am too quick to judge.”

“Maybe you are,” Aurora agreed, not backing down from her fearsome stance, “but you are also brave and wise as leader of the desert fae. Spare Diaval your contempt. He would have no use for a magical weapon. He is bound in Maleficent’s service so would not steal it for anyone else.”

“I see. There is a saying among my people, Your Majesty - born from a hostile feud, of course, but there is truth in it.” Borra’s smile became something more of a humourless smirk. He spread his wings in preparation to take off.

“What’s that?” The Queen reluctantly asked. 

There was a short pause.

“‘Give a raven tinder and he will learn how to start a fire.’”

* * *

Diaval flew for days on end.

He had not left on a whim. He had not left because he tired of bickering. What had occurred in the cave had been no mere argument, it had been what felt like a total destruction of years of companionship and trust. From the bitter and broken fragments of it all, Maleficent’s last order to him was to leave and be far away from her. And so, wrecked with devastation and beseeching someone, _ anyone_, to wake him up from what could only be a nightmare, he had obeyed. He disappeared. It was his duty as her servant to do the things she asked of him.

That had rarely stopped him from questioning her. Every now and then, he pulled her back from the brink of wickedness, because he cared too much about her to see her become that. She could never be happy in solitude and absorbed in her own vengeance. He cared so much for her that he would argue and remark and complain until she realised the things she was doing, but in doing so, perhaps he had forgotten to turn himself to what was right.

He had not been able to catch himself before it was too late. It had been a slow descent, so slow that he hadn’t really realised it was happening until he happened to look upon her one day and it struck him.

Love. 

It had occurred to him in that same moment, that day he realised how he felt, that love was a multi-faceted beast. It was pain as much as it was joy, because while he would have done anything for her happiness (even if it was to go against her wishes), something about it had always hurt somewhere deep down, chipping away at him piece by piece until all that was left of his soul was holes. Love meant he got passionately angry and dreadfully sad because of how much she _ meant _ and he could do nothing to act on it. It was an amplifier, a cursed artefact within him, and he could not reach in to pull it out. 

She had sent him away and yet he still loved her and it was the truest agony that he had ever known. How could she have been so cruel? How could he have been so recklessly stupid? His actions had terrified her and he felt filthy to have been the one to make her relive that pain again. He always strived to give her cause to be happy but had forgotten that in his selfish need to feel like something more than what he was. He had acted on his affections and therein was his ruin: he had forgotten in the elevation of passion that he was a raven and she was something far greater. 

He had needed Maleficent, not his Mistress. Just for a few minutes. He had needed to let that love loose from its iron tethers. And now, he was paying the price. Without her and the Moors, he was stripped of everything. He would fade into the dark without her. Without _ Aurora_.

Snow beat at his wings. The land ahead was covered in white, blending into the sky. Large chunks of ice floated in the water of the sea. Nothing about it was right - it was supposed to be warm and sunny, the days were supposed to be long. The fairies had not long celebrated the summer solstice at home in the Moors. He had never heard of a kingdom shrouded with ice and snow, but he was too exhausted to find greener pastures. 

When his wings gave up on him, Diaval glided down to the cold, empty world below and landed in a heap on an old farmstead. The place was near enough buried under sheets of snow and the weight of it had caused a nearby barn to collapse in on itself. The place was abandoned. There was no chance of it producing crops that summer, not with the unnatural weather that hung over the strange kingdom like a curse. He was too tired and too numb to think further on where he was, all that mattered was that he was far away.

He would die in the cold if he didn’t move. Still, he laid there a while longer as his little heart pounded with exertion, staring into the mystery of the frozen world, the dead, claw-like trees of empty forests. It was nothing like home, which was verdant and beautiful and filled with wonderful, magical things, Aurora’s bright laughter sounding from the woodland castle. There in the unknown, all that could be heard was the howling wind. The occasional hoot of an owl.

The howling of wolves.

Diaval was coaxed back into movement by that. His wings like dead weights, he was aghast to find the snow was too soft and deep for him to walk in, so he flung them forwards and tried to drag himself to an upturned wheelbarrow by the pole of a fence. Mindful of the fact he was stark black against the white surrounding him, he scrambled towards safety, set into an immediate panic by the sounds of a wolf pack on the hunt. 

Wolves and hounds were enemies of ravenkind, especially when the beasts were working for humans. Their sense of smell and their hearing made them difficult to sneak past, and they could also be very difficult to reason with. They could shred a raven with ease, especially one unable to fly. He’d seen it happen to a member of his former unkindness who had thought himself able to outwit guard dogs in a pumpkin patch, though from what he could remember, the worst part had been the sound of it happening. 

What was even more frustrating about the situation was that he was just as intelligent as any man and was trapped in the smaller body of a bird when he knew he was capable of so much more. He could remember perfectly the strength of his horse-shape, the ferocity and power of his dragon-shape. He could feel it all on the edge of his subconscious as if he might shift into a larger, more powerful form at any moment, but that was not going to happen. He needed Maleficent and Maleficent wasn’t there. 

He had left her trembling in a cave.

Weak and disheartened, he dropped at the side of the upturned wheelbarrow and tried in vain to dig a passage underneath with his beak, but he could hear the ragged breaths and snarls of wolves nearby. Their great feet pounded through the snow, and it wasn’t until seconds later that Diaval slowly turned his head and saw a group of them closing in. 

Their colours ranged from pale to dark. Strangely, their eyes were all ice blue rather than the usual gold. All five of them stopped and paced, sizing the terrified raven up like starving mutts, their rows of sharp teeth on show. 

Diaval froze, lying still on his front. He was so scared he couldn’t even breathe. Of all the ways to go, it had to be wolves?! Succumbing to the cold would have been better than dying as a vaguely Diaval shaped splat in the snow, or in pieces. Dying at _ all _ was not particularly ideal.

He was not going to break his promise to Aurora. He could not let her down as he had let Maleficent down, he had to be there for her, no matter what it took.

Perfectly still, Diaval played dead and hoped the wolves were stupid enough to fall for it.

They weren’t.

One of them lunged, but he had seen it before it happened - the subtle rising of hackles, the slight shift backwards. Flicking out a wing, he threw snow into the eyes of the nearest wolf and then darted clumsily underneath its legs in a mad bid to escape. Despite his exhaustion, adrenaline and sheer willpower gave him enough energy to fly, though he could not ascend, instead gliding low over the field close to the barbed wire fence to keep the wolf pack from surrounding him. 

But they were faster. 

A hot, rancid mouth closed around his lower half. Squawking out in panic, Diaval aggressively flapped his wings and tried to peck the eyes of his assailant as he was pulled out of the air, blinded by absolute terror. Sharp teeth sank into his belly and back and he shrieked with the agony of it. Black feathers flying about as he continued to madly flap his wings, they were joined on the snow with flecks of blood when the wolf violently shook him.

This was it. He would be torn apart. He would never see his family again. He would never be able to apologise to Maleficent. To realise it hurt more than the teeth buried in his gut. 

Dazed and half-conscious, Diaval lost his strength and stopped fighting. Unable to raise his head, he stared dully at the snow on the ground from the jaws of the wolf, waiting for the others to come in and tear off his wings.

They didn’t. He was dropped onto the frigid ground and the wolf adjusted its grip on him before picking him up, holding him more firmly within its teeth. The world was spinning and Diaval’s thoughts turned to fog. Now upside-down, he could see the trees of the woods as the beast carried him off, and there among them …

A dark figure. Its face was hidden. The shape faded in and out of being, as if it wasn’t really there but existed as a dream or apparition. The thing spread its black wings, and then it was gone. 

The world turned dark.

* * *

_ Will you be there? When the baby is born? I’d love for my family to be there. _

He tried to speak, but it felt like shards of glass piercing his throat. Of course he’d be there. Why wouldn’t he?

_ You mean the world to me. _

He tried to move, but couldn’t. His breath came in ragged gasps. She had to know that she meant the world to him, too. 

_ Take your wretched love and give it to one who can stand it! _

Tears burned at the frozen skin of his cheeks. He could not wipe them away. He could not even open his eyes. All he could do was vaguely acknowledge that he was man-shaped and entirely incapable of knowing where he was or what was going on. Had Maleficent found him? Had she looked for him? She must have done … she _ must _ have done if he looked like a human. 

Then why wasn’t she healing him? 

_ I’m sorry, _ he wanted to say, but the words emerged as an unintelligible rasp. Guilt and fear and pain flooded his chest and he tried to reach out to her, the deep ache within him forcing more tears down his cheeks. He could taste the salt of them on his cracked lips. _ I would never hurt you like he did, not ever. _

A hand touched his chest. He wasn’t alone, but the hand was not soft and warm like Maleficent’s were. There was an unwelcome iciness to the skin and talons he could feel pressing to the spot over his heart, and something within him wanted nothing more than to be as far away from that touch as possible. The stranger was not hurting him, however. Maybe they could do something to alleviate the agony burning through his entire body. And the wolves … maybe they could scare away the wolves.

“I can save your life,” a woman’s voice said through the mire of fear and rampant memories. Her voice was high pitched, like a warble. Birdsong. “Poor thing. It’s lucky my pets found you, isn’t it? Should I heal you?”

Unable to answer her, Diaval struggled for air. Pets? Were the wolves acting on behalf of someone? Unable to dwell on it despite a pang of fear in his gut, he could already feel himself slowly sliding back into unconsciousness, a stifling nothingness seeping in to claim his mind.

“If you pledge your services to me, I’ll heal you,” the voice quickly said. They sounded strangely happy.

He had to go back. He _ had _to. Even if it was just one more time. They couldn’t think that he didn’t care … he cared for them more than anything in the entire world. They had to know that.

Grasping on to the world of the living out of sheer desperation, Diaval managed the faintest nod and relinquished himself to the mercy of a stranger, because when it came down to it, there was truly no choice in the matter.

_ My Queen, I would do anything to be there. _

* * *

It had felt like a lance of ice piercing his heart.

Whatever it was, it had left something there, somewhere he couldn’t reach. It felt like a thorn digging into his very soul, small but painful and always niggling. And _ cold_. His fingers were so numb it was a struggle to move them at all. The new thing inside him - whatever it was - was spreading a chill to his limbs from his chest, pulsing with his heartbeat. It was a numb, debilitating sort of pain that went hand in hand with the passive stillness of his mind.

Though the pain of whatever injuries he had sustained were gone, his head still ached and felt heavy when he tried to lift it. It took him a moment to properly come to, and when he opened his eyes, the world was blurred until he blinked a few times and reached to rub the remnants of dirt and blood away. 

Only, there was no dirt and blood. Peering confusedly down at his human hand, he found it scrubbed clean, even underneath his claws. Looking to his surroundings, he was in a place he had never seen before in his entire life and it unnerved him as he took it all in. 

It was a dilapidated old house. The thick stone walls were crumbling and half of the roof was gone, but the snow falling down from the night sky melted as soon as it passed into the hole. Whatever magic was protecting the house from the weather was also protecting it from the cold. Nearby, the old fireplace was lit and a somewhat threatening green liquid was bubbling in the cauldron above it, and the ruined walls were decorated with mouldy paintings and shelves full of crystals and skulls.

There was no bed, he was underneath a musty cashmere blanket in an intricately woven nest of dead branches and sheep’s wool. He might have been impressed by it were he not so numbed. The blanket and the fire did nothing to stave off the chill that had settled inside him, and when he turned his hand about, he saw the subtle sparkling of frost across his skin. 

Something wasn’t quite right. 

Somebody had transformed him. They had healed him, for a price. It couldn’t have been Maleficent; something about his transformation just felt _ off_, like it didn’t quite fit him right. Maleficent had always done it perfectly because she was powerful enough to do so and her mastery of magic was unparalleled. 

Diaval pushed himself up with shaking arms and peeled off the blanket to find himself completely naked. Outside of the nest was a pile of clothes, dark in colour and somewhat ragged but they would have to suffice. Stiff and aching, he pulled himself out of the nest and stood up, closing his eyes as his stomach lurched. The healing had, apparently, not been quite as thorough as he was used to.

Glancing down, he found new scars on his belly. Teeth marks. Just about sealed shut, pink and tender. Feeling them, he reluctantly recalled how he had got them. There in the abandoned farm, alone, hunted by wolves … trapped in the body of something that had no hope of surviving. It felt like weeks ago he had been with the Dark Fae and that fated celebration at the edge of the sea, when he had followed Maleficent into a cave at her silent behest and confessed everything to her. And then she had brushed her face against his so softly, so sweetly, inviting him in past a door once locked with iron chains. 

She had trusted him with that. And then he went and ruined it, a baser instinct calling to touch her beautiful, strong feathers when he should have kept his stupid hands to himself. Had that really been the culprit behind the ruination of two decades of companionship? What had the short moment in the cave really meant to Maleficent? Would she despise him all the more now that he had been forced to pledge himself to someone else? 

A lump formed in his throat. He was Maleficent’s servant, not anyone else’s, but he had thrown that away for a chance to see his family again. What would they think of him?

He was truly heartsick. How could he have been foolish enough to lose everything within such a short time?

After slowly dressing himself in the scratchy clothes and boots, he ventured outside and immediately keeled over to throw up.

It was only when he was done that he realised he was being watched by five pairs of ice-blue eyes. His stomach hurled again but was already emptied, so he wiped his mouth and slowly stood up as he stared at the wolves guarding the small house.

They stared right back at him, but made no attempt to attack or even move. They were lying down, relaxed as hounds by a fire, their nostrils twitching as they smelled him from afar. Terrified, Diaval desperately tried to think of a way to escape, but the house was caught between a frozen river and woods so thick with thorns that it seemed impenetrable. The only way out was past the wolves and there was no way he was going near them again.

The beasts eventually lost interest in him and resumed playing or prowling. He took the opportunity to back away into the house and its protective magical wards. His hands shook with shock and dread and he thought he might pass out, but that would mean he would make an even easier meal for them if they were so inclined. 

So struck with fear was he that he did not notice the house was now not entirely vacant, for something had dropped down through the great, crumbling hole in the roof, unnoticed to him. When he backed into something solid, he yelped and span around with his fists up in the air, ready to fight off whatever it was. 

A faerie. 

With no idea whether to be relieved or suspicious, he took a few cautious steps back, trapped between the stranger and the wolves. 

She was a small thing, barely reaching his shoulders even if she looked to be around Maleficent’s age. Shaggy white hair decorated with small bones and holly trailed all the way down her back between two great, bedraggled wings, those of a snowy owl. She was dressed in makeshift attire and was not entirely well groomed, either not realising it or simply having given up on it. Her horns, pale as bone, arced from her head and had grown into each other at the tips, forming a perfectly spherical shape that easily could have encapsulated something as round as the Moon. 

She seemed somewhat less intimidating than other fae had. That was a relief. 

And then she smiled, and Diaval became fearful again. 

Her pale eyes looked him up and down. Her teeth were sharp, the smile as malicious and hungry as a shark’s grin. She looked as though she might tear his heart out with her black talons and then eat it right in front of him, which was about as kind a fate as he expected by that point.

“Did you …” Diaval began nervously, though the searing of his throat made his voice fall into a silent rasp. He gestured down at himself and the shape that he wore. “How?”

The faerie raised the twisted staff she carried, proudly twirling it in her hand.

“Witch,” she explained, her high voice too smooth and sweet to seem like it really belonged to her. “Obviously. Silly bird. Must’ve hit your head or something. Should I take a look?” When Diaval took an anxious step back, the woman laughed a cold, tinkling laugh. “You had best get used to me.”

“Are you with the Dark Fae?” Diaval managed, his wounded voice barely above a whisper. “Where’s -“

“No,” the witch snapped, her smile dropping. “Once. Not now. They cast me out, you see, long ago. They didn’t want me. Now I’m here, and so are you. We are far away from the Moors, raven. You’ll see it’s better that way.”

Despite himself, he raised his eyebrows and glanced outside the door to where endless snow and vicious wolves were waiting.

“Really?” He asked with an edge of sarcasm, defensive in his upset. “What did they cast you out for, then? Bad taste?”

Stunned when something hard struck the side of his head, Diaval staggered back and glared at the witch and her elevated staff. The bulbous tip of it packed a punch and not one that he had been expecting. Pulling a face, he moved back until he was pressed against the wall at the faerie’s approach, and she jabbed the base of the staff right against his chest in a threatening manner. 

“Did you speak to Maleficent like that?” She asked callously.

“When she was in the mood for it, yes, actually. Do I know you?”

“My name is Wynne,” the woman muttered, pressing the staff into him until it hurt. “The Moon Witch. I saved your life. _ I _ am your master. We’re connected, now, we two. We are going to achieve great things together! So you’d best start talking to me as though you’re grateful.”

He didn’t like her. Not one bit. She seemed unsure with her authority, wielding it clumsily and relying on intimidation. Not only that, he resented the choice he had been given while on the cusp of breathing his last breath: serve, or die. She might have helped him but it was purely for her own gain, whereas Maleficent … Maleficent had needed his help, though had not asked him to serve her. He’d offered himself having seen the great pain she carried around with her. 

“Nope,” he croaked at her, then pushed the staff away from his chest. “Your dogs did it. I don’t owe you nothin’. If you don’t mind, I need to go home and see my family.”

With that, he marched out of the door and immediately regretted it. The wolves were standing to attention again, watching him with their horribly intelligent eyes and lifting their lips in snarls. Behind them, the world disappeared into a dreary mist and the falling snow, and Diaval realised that even if he could escape, he had no idea where he was going and was not going to get very far on legs alone. 

Tense, he turned to face Wynne, not meeting her piercing eyes. 

“Will you turn me back into a raven?”

“Nope,” Wynne echoed, shrugging. “Only when I need you to be a raven. I like you man-shaped.” She smirked obscenely at that. “You shouldn’t wander off too far. The curse I put on you is meant to get worse the further we are from each other.”

Taken aback, Diaval looked once again at his hand and the slight layer of frost to it. The icy thorn in his chest was the source of it all, smothering him in cold. He would not know warmth while the curse persisted, and if the witch’s words were true, escaping would mean the cold would overwhelm him entirely. 

There were no chains, but he was still trapped. Crestfallen, he looked at her and tried a new tactic.

“Please. I just need to go to the Moors, even if it’s just for a day. I have … My fledgeling, Aurora, she’s expecting -“

“Do you think I care what that human brat is up to? She won’t be ruling that pathetic kingdom for much longer. She’ll be out on the streets of Ulstead begging for scraps where she belongs. Do you think she might survive the Winter? The birth?”

Diaval paled with anger. Staring at the faerie with cold rage, he fought not to rise to the bait. 

“I’ve taken this kingdom,” Wynne continued proudly. “They don’t know it, but it was me. I brought this beautiful weather here to Wickpon. I brought the snow and the ice and their _ misery. _I’m going to take Ulstead, too. I’ll take Perceforest, the Moors, everything! The kingdoms will be united into one and their one ruler will be Winter.”

“Oh,” muttered Diaval. “You’re evil. That’s great. Honestly. And you want me to be your familiar, I’m guessin’? I’m sorry to say that I’m already taken.”

“You were sent away by Maleficent. Word travels quickly among the trees. Now, servant, I don’t care whether you’re owned by the gods themselves. You’re mine.” Wynne regarded him with a strange sort of affection, then. “You were the best, they said. Handsome and brave. Good enough to serve the Phoenix.” 

The witch moved in and touched a cold hand to Diaval’s cheek. Taut with rage, he dared not move in case he lashed out and was maimed for it. 

“Now, I wonder, pretty bird …” Wynne said quietly, her voice laced with a mad wickedness. “Will you be bad enough to serve me?”

Diaval did not honour her with an answer.


	5. The Will of the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! Also, thanks so much for all of the feedback, I appreciate it so much! Special thanks to the regulars, you guys are the heart keeping this fic going!
> 
> Please bear in mind the tags, this chapter touches on some of them in parts.

It was days later when Maleficent finally flew back to the woodland castle at the heart of the Moors. Aurora was at her wit’s end by then, pacing barefooted through a small meadow of daisies and completely unable to appreciate the beauty of the place; her worry for Maleficent and Diaval, those she considered her true parents, grew and grew each passing day. The Dark Fae were not exactly talkative when it came to their affairs, a trait no doubt gained from centuries of discrimination and being forced to hide, so Aurora was none-the-wiser when it came to the health of her mother.

An oak leaf blew in from the trees and settled before her feet. She stopped, golden head tilting as she regarded it. Strange. The leaf was dying. Bending down to pick it up, she found it torn and dark and covered with a light frost that had no place in the Moors at this time of year. Just as she was about to consider it further, the beating of wings sounded from the skies and the leaf was blown from between her fingertips. 

With much relief, the young queen stood fast as the wind buffeted her at Maleficent’s descent. Though confused and anxious and even angry, the love she held for her mother emerged above all else, and she moved in to embrace her at once with the biggest smile on her face. 

Maleficent did not smile. She rarely did. However, Aurora had never seen her looking quite so lost as she did then, her green eyes fixed startlingly on the young woman’s face as if seeking something there. Comfort? Answers? Whatever it was she needed, she was not forthcoming with an explanation. 

“Mother, I’m so glad you’re not hurt,” Aurora said, taking a step back to look Maleficent over. Indeed, the faerie appeared much as she usually did, save the somewhat vacant space behind her eyes. “Borra told me that something happened. They’re all so worried about you. And - the pixies said that a spire of green erupted over the sea.” She glanced around, then, expecting to see Diaval stood patiently watching in one of the trees nearby, but there were no birds whatsoever. Not a single song emerged from the crowns of the forest. 

“Mother, where’s -“

“No.”

They stared at each other. Maleficent’s one word had come hard and fast, so firm that it seemed the intention was to stifle the subject before it could arise. At that, she peered down her nose at her daughter and then moved off deeper into the meadow until the long grass swallowed her feet and calves. She paraded through the nests of fairies without care, sending them swooping up into the sky, chittering their irritation at her. Waving a hand, she sent them spiralling off further into the meadow.

She was in that sort of mood, then.

Stubbornly following out of a deep concern, Aurora trailed behind the dark, willowy figure of the faerie, staring at her wings and back with a furrow to her brow. She thought briefly back to the conversation that she’d had with Diaval when he returned from Ulstead, suspicions arising - he’d been so adamant that he would never tell the truth, and yet he had seemed so downhearted about it all, too, if only for that his feelings had been caged up for so long. 

Heart sinking, she frowned and turned her gaze to the daisies, instead.

“He told you, didn’t he? That’s why he isn’t here.”

“Who told me _ what_, dear girl?” Maleficent turned in dramatic fashion, silently demanding her attention. “Oh, Beastie. Look at you. You’re glowing. How have you been since I left? Do you need me to return here?”

“Mother, please. I’m perfectly fine. Phillip has been running around doing everything for me while I sit bored to death on that throne. I’m just …” Taking a small step forwards, Aurora peered up with uncertainty, fear gripping at her heart. “Please. I know that whatever went on between you is your business. It’s just not like him to be scarce. Tell me that he’s all right.”

She worried at her sleeves, thinking back to Maleficent’s departure. Though Diaval had continued to joke and linger wherever he was needed, it slowly became more and more clear that he wasn’t entirely happy. It had been in his eyes, dark and brooding and away with the fairies. Though Aurora had never truly understood the magical nature of the relationship between Diaval and Maleficent, she did know that they were more than just master and servant, even if such things often went unspoken. She could not imagine what it must feel like to love someone so deeply and to be apart from them for the first time in decades, let alone being unable to confess it. It was no wonder he had cracked, like a dam overflowing with water.

Maleficent’s reaction gave her no comfort. The faerie just gazed at her cautiously, the faintest mote of emotion there in the slight pinch of her brow. 

“I don’t know,” she said at last - and then there it was, the slightest wobble of her lower lip, and then she closed her eyes before turning away again, holding her head high. “I came here to check on you, Aurora. I think of you often when I’m there. It pains me to be so far from you while you’re like this.” She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Aurora’s belly.

“I think of you, too. Both of you. What do you mean - you don’t know?” Aurora asked, desperate now. “Mother, he hasn’t been himself. I’m worried. And now you’re upset, too. He knew that you wouldn’t want him, he just wanted to be by your side, did you know that? He would have been happy with that.”

“Would he?” Maleficent returned, and it was unclear whether it was a genuine question or not. There was a small pause, and the faerie did not look at her daughter the entire while. “Yes, he told me how he felt. One thing led to another, as they do, and the fool touched my wings. He knows better than that. I had to send him away. It’s all right, there are plenty of ravens out there that could take his place. Thousands,” she joked cruelly.

Stunned, Aurora gaped at her mother in shock. It all slowly began to fall into place. Maleficent had been receptive to Diaval’s confession if she had allowed him to get close enough to touch her wings, and she _ was _ upset by the matter given the tautness to her poise and the way she gripped her staff as if it had wronged her. Green magic swirled at her fingertips, though was swiftly stifled. 

“There are thousands of ravens,” the young queen agreed, approaching to stand by Maleficent’s side. “Only one Diaval. How could you say that? You know that the last thing he would have wanted was to hurt you. He adores you. He isn’t _ Stefan _.” Unperturbed by the glare she received at that, she moved to stand directly in front of Maleficent, instead. “Of course he touched your wings. He’s a bird! Maybe he didn’t know better, maybe you both should have stopped to lay down some ground rules before you started -“

“Aurora!” Maleficent snapped, aghast. “What occurs between Diaval and myself is no concern of yours. I have everything that I need to be happy. I have you, the Moors, my people, and soon the child that you will bring into the world, and I will protect it all with everything I have, with or without Diaval at my side.”

“Everything you need,” Aurora breathed, saddened. “Not everything you want. You’re frightened, Mother.”

“I don’t get frightened. Do enlighten me, Beastie: whatever would somebody like me have to be frightened of, now?”

Aurora could have screamed in her frustration. As it was, she cared too much about her family to do that, instead summoning all of the patience that she could muster and taking a couple of deep breaths to steel herself for the inevitable. The truth. 

“Love,” she murmured gently, touching Maleficent’s hand at her staff. “You’re scared of loving a man again. That’s why you sent him away, isn’t it? It’s been there between you for so long, but the moment it’s given life through words … I know that it reminds you of things you would rather not think about, but the man responsible is gone. Diaval is loyal and gentle and thinks the world of you. He has no expectations, he only wants your happiness. He told me that himself.”

She saw Maleficent’s throat bob in a swallow. Those startling green-gold eyes were moistening, and she was clearly doing everything in her power to hide it. It could only mean that Aurora’s words rung true, and though she felt somewhat guilty for bringing it up, she knew that her mother would have only allowed it all to remain shrouded in mystery. 

“I don’t care,” she announced in a manner that suggested she did actually care very much. Aurora just shook her head, tears forming in her own eyes as her upset caught up with her. 

“That’s enough. Please tell me where he is so that we might bring him home. I’m so worried. He would usually be here, even after one of your arguments. I need him back. He’s family.”

Taking one look at her upset daughter, Maleficent waved a hand and brought a wooden bowl into being, filling it magically with water. Leaving her staff to stand on its own, she held the bowl of water in both hands and gazed intently into it until the water swirled black. 

“I cannot feel him,” she said, then directed her attention back to the water. “Show me Diaval.”

The water remained black for a few seconds, and then something within the centre emerged - a dot of white, which slowly began to spread like ink through the water, tendrils of it reaching towards the edge of the bowl. The tendrils swirled and writhed until the strange, blank whiteness occupied the water entirely. It remained that way, showing nothing of Diaval or his location, as though the truth was shrouded in a magical white fog. 

“Show me Diaval,” Maleficent repeated, more insistently this time. 

Nothing happened. 

As the two of them gazed into the answerless pool of white, Aurora felt the beginnings of panic flutter in her heart. She did not know what it meant for such a spell to fail, though her mind swiftly jumped to the worst possible conclusion, and then that panic turned to devastating, overwhelming pain. All feeling left her limbs and her knees gave out from beneath her, sending her sprawling into the daisies.

Maleficent was quick to gather her up into her arms and hold her, clearly terrified. It did not comfort Aurora, who buried herself into her mother’s shoulder and allowed herself to express all the fear and upset that she had been patiently bottling up for the past few days. As floods of tears poured down her cheeks and soaked into Maleficent’s dress, the young queen thought back to the last time she had seen Diaval in his man-shape. His dark, inhuman eyes were glistening with emotion, but he had smiled at her in that crooked way he did, soft and protective.

“He’s gone,” she whispered hoarsely.

“No. It would have shown us. Something is … blocking my connection to him.”

“Then we must find him. We can’t leave him out there on his own. He can’t be with his own kind anymore, you _ know _ that.” Sitting up, Aurora held on to the front of Maleficent’s dress, gazing beseechingly at her. “The Dark Fae are blaming him for the missing Phoenix Emerald.”

“What?” The faerie asked flatly, eyes widening. 

“Borra came to me. He had no trust for Diaval because of what he is. He thinks that he stole it, and no doubt many of the other fae will, too, just because there is nobody else to blame. It’s not fair.”

“That’s impossible. He was here with you.”

“I know! And they expect me to accuse him … no, I just want him home and safe.” The queen sniffled and rubbed her eyes, peering into the bowl of water that was now spilling water onto the grass below. “I just want him to be safe.”

Maleficent lowered her horned head, holding Aurora fast against her body and gently rubbing her arm. She was frowning deeply, her gaze even more vacant than before, and it flicked to the trees every now and then, perhaps in the hope that somebody familiar would show up among the branches. The branches were empty of life. 

“Forgive me, Aurora,” she murmured, running her long fingers through her daughter's golden hair. “A great devastation came over me when … Yes, I was frightened by how I felt, but - and then all I could see was Stefan that night he took my wings. I did to Diaval what I had always dreamed I would have done to Stefan if only I had woken up. I sent him far away where I might never see him again. I hurt him.” A single tear betrayed her, then, sliding slowly down her elegant cheek. Lashes fluttering, she quickly wiped it away. “It seems to be my nature to hurt the people that I love most when they are not the ones that deserve it.”

Aurora kneeled and held Maleficent’s face between her hands, concerned.

“That’s not true. Your nature is to love. Deeply. To love so strongly can also bring great pain in times of strife. You thought you were defending yourself from a pain you swore you would never feel again.” Despite her tears, she smiled sweetly. “You love each other so much. I have always seen it. Now, we need to make right what was wrong and bring our family back together.”

Maleficent nodded subtly at that. When the pair heard voices in the sky, they looked up and saw a small group of Dark Fae soaring overhead towards the woodland castle, and so the faerie stood up and gently brought Aurora to her feet. 

“We shall see what news they have,” she said, and Aurora let her take hold of her arm to guide her back through the meadow. “Beastie. I will do what it takes to bring him back to us.”

“I know, mother,” the young queen replied somewhat breathlessly, though still she felt the sickening churning of dread within her. 

“I will make things right.”

“I know. I know you will.”

Disheartened by the failure of the scrying magic, the pair slowly made their way back to the court, making time for Aurora’s inability to walk a small distance without needing to stop and rest. Everything was starting to hurt from the weight she carried: her back, her ankles, her hips, though she always refused to be carried. Maybe she did not have wings but she would not rely on those of the Moorfolk. It was her duty to protect _ them _.

And she had already failed one of them.

Once she had struggled her way to the woodland castle, she found a group of Dark Fae waiting, those she recognised as their respective leaders. Too tired to even greet them properly, she very quickly bowed her head and waddled to her throne, dropping down onto it with much relief. Phillip was not there - no doubt he was off with the pixies gathering food for the evening, or meeting with ambassadors from Ulstead. 

The Dark Fae, Maleficent included, moved to stand before the throne. They were a proud people, all of them holding their heads high as they regarded the queen of the Moors. It was clear that a couple of them did not exactly approve of Aurora’s position among them, but none of them had ever truly disrespected her authority. To do so would be to disrespect Maleficent, too, the last descendant of the progenitor of their people.

“Let me make one thing clear before you speak,” Maleficent said, moving to stand beside Aurora’s throne to gaze down upon the others. “I will not hear of rampant accusations made in desperation. The Phoenix Emerald was not stolen by my familiar. He has been here on the mainland since the wedding, without his wings, protecting the Queen. Is that clear?”

Udo and Merin nodded, but Shrike and Borra glanced at each other. The latter stepped forwards and then knelt down, folding his fist over his heart in a gesture of respect. 

“We have news, and I don’t mean to offend you with it,” he began cautiously, looking up at them with his dry desert eyes. “Two of my scouts returned from their search and were most disturbed by something that they had seen. They said that they saw - what was his name? - your familiar within dark woods, holding the emerald in his hand. They saw him with their own eyes.”

Aurora’s blood ran cold. Gripping the arms of her throne, she stared at Borra and hoped to read him for signs of deceit, but he seemed as suitably disturbed by what he was saying as everyone else did. He was not relaying the news for the sole purpose of proving himself right, as one might have expected; he actually seemed a little bit fearful to be saying it in front of Maleficent, though he was bold enough to meet her gaze head on. 

“They said that his eyes were like ice piercing right through them. There was a great wind that knocked them off their feet, and then he was gone,” Borra continued, rising to his feet. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the bird was the traitor that we suspected all along. If he returns the emerald, we might forgive him his nature, but not his crime.”

Aurora and Maleficent were stunned into silence. They knew that it could not possibly be true, and yet Borra had relayed the news with true conviction. 

“If I may,” Merin interceded the silence, eyeing Borra like a disgruntled mother, “the vulture is just as opportunistic as the raven.”

Before Borra could respond, Shrike shook her colourful head and regarded the queen fiercely. 

“He was seen in the north. If we fly now, we could have the emerald back by tomorrow. I will go myself if I have to!” She opened her bright, parrot-like wings, waiting for the order to depart. “Allow me to bring the treasure of your clan back to you, Maleficent. I would do so gladly.”

“No.”

The order did not come from Aurora or Maleficent. It came from Udo, the snowy-feathered leader of the Tundra Fae, whose pale eyes were awash with an uncharacteristic fear. The man was usually entirely calm and even stoic, quiet and thoughtful, and when he ever spoke it was only when it was truly needed. He stepped forth and bowed towards the throne. 

“My clan brings news of its own. I fear that we know the truth behind the theft of the emerald.” He raised his head towards the heavens. “Have you felt a bitter chill on the air, my friends? Have you seen the beginnings of Winter? Snow fell upon our ancestral home. It does not belong there. I sent scouts of my own to search the skies, and when they flew north, they discovered a great, magical snowstorm moving in across the sea. It was an impenetrable wall of cursed ice and howling wind. Even now, I can hear it coming …”

Disturbed by that, the group stared at him, falling into complete silence. Udo closed his eyes in a show of sudden emotion and bowed his head.

“If there is anybody to blame, it is me.”

“Udo,” Aurora said firmly, but with gentility. “What do you mean by that?”

“A snowstorm of such destructive power can only mean one thing. The Moon Witch has returned. Diaval was right: it was a faerie that stole the Phoenix Emerald, a witch skilled in illusion and manipulation. And now she is using the power of the emerald to send a great storm our way.” 

“The Moon Witch?” Enquired Aurora, who was none-the-wiser. Maleficent, too, seemed unaware of who that was and what it meant, but the others suddenly looked highly uncomfortable. “Who is she?”

Udo did finally turn his gaze towards the queen, beset with a great, age-old shame. 

“My twin sister. She was a wicked thing from childhood, power hungry and avaricious. When the call of matehood came to her, she searched and searched but there were none who would have her. She confused their rejections for slights on her appearance.” The faerie grit his teeth, ashamed but resolute. “I tried to spend as much time with her as I could, but I had a family of my own. Wynne was not the sort that thrived in solitude. She always wanted attention, and she fell into cold resentment when it became clear she would not find a mate among our clan. She would bring blizzards and revel in it. She even tried to steal our own treasure, the Owl’s Eye, but she was thwarted by your mother.” He looked at Maleficent meaningfully, then. “Your mother was guardian of our people before you. She saw the danger in Wynne and ordered me to make a decision. I chose to banish her from our ancestral home and sent her to the north, where it was said a great storm claimed her into the sea. Only, it’s also said that she tricked the Moon into taking pity on her and restoring her life. She must have been in hiding since then, waiting for her time, and now she has stolen the emerald to spite the Phoenix line and to use its great power for evil.”

The group processed the tale. It was a lot to take in, especially for Aurora and Maleficent who had never heard the story, but they trusted that Udo would have only relayed it if it was of true significance. However, Borra was sceptical, even scoffing in response. 

“You’re really dragging that one up after all this time? Wynne is dead. My scouts saw Diaval with the emerald. It’s a more likely story than the Moon magically bringing witches back to life, isn’t it? Let’s just fly north and get the treasure back before it falls into the wrong hands,” he insisted, impatient.

“It already has,” Udo argued calmly. “I know my sister. What your scouts saw was an illusion protecting whatever kingdom Wynne is haunting. They saw what they wanted to see.” He looked back to Maleficent and Aurora, lips tightening into a thin line. “Your friend flew north. I believe he is innocent of the senseless accusations made against him, but he will not remain innocent for long if Wynne finds him.”

The churning dread in Aurora’s belly only intensified. Feeling her cheeks pale, she gazed blankly at the faerie as hot tears began to form. Maleficent’s scrying spell had shown nothing but white, everything within clouded by a cold magic. Ice. Rapidly blinking the tears away, she sat up and braced herself.

“What do you mean by that?” She asked, fearing the answer.

“Wynne will strive to hurt the Phoenix line. If she realises Diaval’s connection to Maleficent, well … What better way to hurt than to take what she herself never had?” Udo’s great shame was all the more prevalent, then, and he kneeled a second time, hand to his heart. “Forgive me for what mistakes I made in the past. Even I did not suspect the lengths she would go to exact her revenge.”

“No,” Maleficent murmured. Stepping forwards, she sighed shakily and clutched at her staff. It was unclear just what she was feeling - was it fear? Sorrow? Rage? Or perhaps it was all of them at once, given the restlessness of her dark wings. Regardless, she spoke calmly to the faerie before her. “It is not your fault. You did what was right. I only ask that you advise me on how best to travel the snowstorm.”

The Dark Fae seemed surprised by that, about to express their concerns but thinking better of it - all except Merin, who adopted a stern countenance and jabbed her own staff in Maleficent’s direction. 

“Out of the question. The Moon Witch is ruthless. I had the displeasure of teaching that girl, long ago. She will use the emerald and Diaval to lure you in and then kill you, and there will not be tears of a loved one there to save you this time.” The elder did not relent, reaching forth to touch Maleficent’s hand. “Our clan already lost our leader. We cannot lose you, too.”

“Do not doubt me,” Maleficent responded impassively. “Whatever power this Moon Witch holds, it is _ nothing _ compared to my own. I’ll destroy her for taking what belongs to me.”

The fae continued arguing between themselves. Meanwhile, Aurora’s mind was racing. She fretted and worried and could not stop her mind from venturing down darker paths; as queen it was her duty to consider all possible outcomes, and thanks to this mysterious Moon Witch, there could be very dark times ahead, indeed. A cruel and vengeful Winter was heading straight for the Moors, and Diaval - her father … was presumably already consumed by it. It sounded as though death would have been a sweeter fate than being caught by Wynne, at least then he would not have to suffer.

She tried to look at the positives. They still had time. Maleficent believed that Diaval was still alive, and also that the emerald could be retrieved along with him. How were they to breach the storm if even the fae were too frightened to fly through it? She did hate the thought of any of them getting hurt, but if she could not think of an idea, they would run out of time. The Moors would be swallowed by the harsh cold. Diaval would be gone, and Maleficent’s heart would be broken a second time. 

Distraught and powerless, Aurora stood and tried to join the verbal spar between the fae without any real ideas to contribute, though as soon as she did, the world suddenly started to spin. Her stomach lurched and her heart fluttered weakly as everything went silent save for a ringing in her ears, and so she held her swollen belly protectively before succumbing to the darkness seeping in to the corners of her vision. 

She could not give up. Not yet. 

* * *

The kingdom of Wickpon was large but desolate. It was near enough buried beneath a thick blanket of snow with only the main town streets scraped free of it by diligent workmen. What was left of the people gathered in the warmth of pubs and they also sought sanctuary in the great castle lording over the town, a dark and lonely structure that disappeared into the low-lying clouds above. As Diaval flew around one of the many spires, he found gargoyles guarding every empty window, their stone worn down and cold. 

It had been some days since his capture. He had been counting, but swiftly gave that up; everything was blurring into one awful mess. He did not know how many nights he slept outside with the wolves, snarling defensively whenever one of them got too close (truth be told, he could not sleep around them). He’d lost count of the times Wynne had sent him into Wickpon, which was a small distance from the abandoned farmhouse she called home, to steal food and jewellery from the impoverished townsfolk for her own enjoyment. 

Diaval might have been a petty thief every now and again for the sake of survival, and also when Maleficent had required it. He could not abide Wynne’s cruelty, however, only pinching from the lords and ladies that milled about within the castle. That day alone he had secured an entire loaf of bread, a bundle of rare red grapes, and a sparkling brooch right from the dress of a poor, unsuspecting older lady. Diaval felt filthy for having done it, and so minutes later, he had made sure to fly through the hall again and drop the brooch right into her lap. 

Her smile had helped ease the cold, if only for a moment. 

The further he travelled from the faerie witch, the worse the cold of the curse became. She was waiting for him back at the house only a couple of miles away, and the raven could not feel his feet as a result of their distance. His body was racked with shivers. The icy thorn at his heart stung sharply, spreading chill right into the tips of his wings and back again, and no matter how many blankets he covered himself with, no matter the fires he stood beside, he just could not get warm. It was unbearable. 

Wynne only grinned at him whenever he complained. 

He dreaded going back, but the cold was such that he could hardly flap his wings anymore. He settled on pinching another bundle of grapes right from the castle’s grand dining table (which was becoming increasingly sparse as the days went on), then flew out into the kingdom towards the dark woods. He glided down to that secretive spot beside the frozen river and swiftly past the wolves pacing outside the house, dropping the grapes onto the table.

Wynne rose from beside the fire and eyed his find, unimpressed. With a snap of her fingers, Diaval transformed uncomfortably back into his man-shape, and he immediately tucked his hands into his armpits to try and get some feeling back into them. 

“Is that all? No cakes? No jewellery?” Wynne asked, apparently saddened by what she had received. “This is no way to treat your Mistress, is it? You need to do better.”

Diaval glared at her. “That’s more food than most of those townspeople have today. How do you expect ‘em to b-be able to grow food in this weather? They’ve got hungry fledgelings they need to look after and you’re making it impossible. Do you know that?”

“And?” Wynne shot back. “They’re humans. They’re boring and unmagical and they oppressed our people for thousands of years. Don’t you think they deserve a little taste of that?”

“Oh, really? Did they? These same farmers and children forced you back to your caves? If that’s the case, even I’d be a better witch than you, and I don’t know my hocus from my pocus. You’re just lookin’ for an excuse to hurt people.”

It was risky business arguing with her. He had learnt that the hard way those past few days, finding himself frequently at the hard end of her staff if he ever talked back, but he was angry and downcast enough that he didn’t care. His true Mistress, Maleficent, had done wicked things in her time, but she was no true evil. She never would have abused her powers to starve an entire kingdom, and she always listened to reason, even if she didn’t always like it. Hers was a good heart, one that had suffered but one that was balanced by love nonetheless. 

Wynne was something else. There was not a drop of love in her entire body. Diaval had no time for people like her and certainly had no interest in enacting her evil deeds, but she had successfully manipulated him into that position by holding his life over his head. That, and the chance to ever see Aurora and Maleficent again. It felt vile to be on the side of a genuine and maddened evil and to have no say in the matter. Every time he was forced to steal from the suffering people, it tore at his already tattered soul.

He hadn’t long shaken off his false reputation as a villainous familiar - and now _ this _, separated from his family and his home and living up to a character he thought was behind him. And Aurora … what was she doing? What was she thinking? Would Maleficent ever forgive him?

Would they forget about him?

When he slept outside with the wolves, he was forced to consider that he had never actually known true loneliness until now. Loneliness, he realised, truly was one of the most painful things a person could endure, and it hurt even more when he thought back to what he’d once had and how he had let it all slip through his fingers for one selfish moment. 

Out of all the shapes he had taken, that of a human might have been the most powerful; he had not lost the ability to reason and to feel since that first transformation. It had been a gift from somebody who needed a friend. Now, it all felt just as much a curse as the one lingering in his heart.

Why was he even arguing? Wynne was so set on her evil goals that she was deaf to his attempts to make her consider what she was doing. He knew, however, that despite his contempt for her and what she had done, that deep down he believed in her potential for good, and it infuriated him all the more. 

Taking advantage of the fact the witch had not yet struck him for talking back to her, Diaval squared his shoulders and met her cruel, pale gaze. 

“So you’re going to flood the world with Winter, is that it? And what’re you going to do once you’ve done that? Do you think it’ll make you feel better? If the humans nearly succeeded in making the Dark Fae extinct, do you really think they won’t be able to stop you? You’re on your own.” He took a bold step towards her, holding his hands out placatingly. “There’s time to turn this around, you know. Free this kingdom of its curse and you’ll be a friend to them.”

Wynne stared at him a moment, and then she laughed. It was a horrible little sound, like icicles falling onto a frozen river, glass splitting in twain. Though unnerved by it, Diaval held his ground when the smile fell from her face as swiftly as it had arisen. 

“You’re funny,” the witch commended sarcastically, glaring up at him in a manner reminiscent of a child about to throw a tantrum. “Stupid, too, but I suppose many have floated their way through life with nothing but a pretty face. The world is not like the Moors, where everything can get solved with _ flowers _ and _ friendship_. You’re from the wild. You know better, even if you did let her tame you into _ this_.” She gestured rudely at him, baring her fangs in a grimace-like smirk. “Humans are not _ friends. _Neither are the Dark Fae. You should be thanking me for pushing them out of your miserable little life.”

“Oh!” Diaval gasped in mock surprise, emboldened by anger. “Where are my manners? Thank you for almost killing me, and thank you for taking everything from me in the name of your frankly insane conquest -“

The staff struck. Hard. Stumbling back against the crumbling wall behind him, he touched the now painfully throbbing spot on the side of his head - and then he laughed, a throaty, hacking sound that held no humour in it. Taloned fingers came to wrap around his throat and he did not bother fighting back as they clenched and held him there against the cold stone. Wynne might have been smaller than him, but she was a faerie and stronger than his mere, human form could ever hope to be. 

“What did I take from you that you had not already lost?” Wynne asked in a deceptively light tone, the tips of her talons beginning to dig in to his flesh. Her palm pressed threateningly against his windpipe. It was a sore reminder that she could easily kill him in the blink of an eye. “_She _ took it from you. I suppose you just weren’t good enough for her in the end, were you? It’s all right. _ I _ understand how that feels. The Moon guided you to me and now here we are, together: the witch and her faithful servant, rejected by those who were meant to love them.” Her grip loosened slightly, but she kept her hand wrapped around his neck, those black talons tickling provocatively below his ears. She smiled at him and then breathed a delighted little laugh. “Back in the wild, where we belong! You’ll forget her in no time, pretty raven, and you’ll learn to love me in her place.”

That was when he saw it. A flash of green. 

Something was tied to one of her many leather necklaces. Among the crystals and small animal skulls - a green stone peaked just over the neckline of Wynne’s tattered dress. It stuck out like a sore thumb there, clearly not really belonging. In what he could see of its vibrant depths, a golden power fluttered within.

Diaval was suddenly filled with a longing unlike anything he had ever known. 

Distracted, he did not initially notice that the cold hand had removed itself from his throat and was instead tugging at the loose first lace of his tunic. When it came undone, he pulled his gaze back up to the witch’s face and found there a playful expression. His thoughts were running rampant - _ was that the Phoenix Emerald?! _ \- and he took a moment to come to terms with the chill of revulsion trickling down his spine. Quickly taking her hand, he thrust it away, uncomfortable.

“What are you doing?” He muttered, self-consciously closing the open gap in his tunic. “The Moon did no such thing as guide me here. Your wolves stole me from the snow.”

“You were given to me.” Insistent, icy eyes narrowing with anger, Wynne grabbed him by his tunic and then spread her great, snowy wings to form a blindingly white cage around them both. She was not unlike a wolf herself in that moment, her dry lips turned up in a snarl as though she were ravenous despite the food he had painstakingly stolen and put on her table. “You failed me today with this pathetic hoard, but I’ll give you the chance to make it up to me. Aren’t I a _ good _ Mistress?”

Drawn to the rough, green stone at Wynne’s breast, Diaval wondered how easily he could steal it. It had to be half the size of his palm. The leather cord that wrapped around it was thin, easily cut. The hardest part would be stealing it from her … and then escaping unnoticed. Something told him such a task was going to be far more difficult to navigate than it seemed.

It _ was _the emerald. It had to be. It looked so much like his true Mistress’ eyes, the eyes of the Phoenix herself, green and gold and filled with so much magic it was impossible to fathom, but he loved trying. He remembered that the stone could be used to amplify the power of whoever used it, which would explain the powerful curse shrouding Wickpon in an eternal Winter. The curse embedded in his heart. Wynne’s ability to clumsily transform him. It was all thanks to the emerald.

The golden magic within it pulsed like a heartbeat. Perhaps it was in tune with Maleficent’s heart.

Filled again with that painful longing, Diaval found the strength to push Wynne away from him when her hands started to wander uninvited. 

“No,” he snapped firmly, sickened by the turn of events. It had all rather suddenly clicked into place, and all he wanted to do was fly as far away from that house as possible as the chill of dread settled in his gut. Just when he thought things couldn’t possibly get worse!

Wynne stared at him, stunned by the swift rejection. 

“No?” She repeated in a small voice. “What do you mean - no? Even after what she did?”

“I’m not -“ Diaval attempted, though his voice caught. Cringing, he made small movements towards the door, numb with disbelief. “That’s - _ no. _What? No. I’m going - going outside. You just enjoy your grapes, now. Freshly picked from the tables of the broken. Your favourite.”

The witch stared. Her hands were clenched. Witnessing it was sort of like being stood at the base of a great volcano that was churning smoke in preparation to explode, only this particular volcano was ready to unleash unstoppable tides of ice and snow. The silence only made everything worse. 

When she did speak, it was a mere whisper and all the more terrifying for it.

“You pledged your service to me,” she reminded him, her small form making a stiff movement forwards. Her wings opened out into a threatening display. “There is a magical bond between us. Do you want to find out what happens when you fight that bond?”

He really didn’t want to find out, but it could not be worse than the alternative. Nervous, Diaval slowly backed away from her and the wings that could break him. The raven inside him was screaming at the prospect of betraying his nature, while the man was simply numb, his mind falling blank to defend himself from the situation. 

“I’m not yours,” he said quietly, wringing at one of his sleeves. “You need to move away from me, now.”

The sharp niggle in his chest was rapidly getting colder. It chilled him to the very bone, drying his lips and making his eyes water. Before he could really figure out what was happening, a piercing shriek ripped into the woods and then he was being transformed - only it _ hurt. _ Realising with horror that she was going to make him feel every last slow moment of the spell, he tried to fight it for the first time in his life.

He strained, willing his body not to give in, but his body was not his own to command. The thorn of ice dug in that bit deeper and the pain of it exploded outwards across his entire body, sending him down onto his knees. Shocks of freezing cold blasted across his skin, and then - and _ then _ … 

Diaval had been adamant not to entertain her with the pain she was causing, but his stubbornness was demolished the moment the transformation finally took hold. He felt every rearrangement of bone and flesh, the emergence of new teeth, the change in the structure of his skull. It ripped a deafening sound out of him - a scream? - and he writhed and scrabbled in agony, willing the pain to end by whatever means necessary. The cruel magic jolted through his body like electricity but did nothing to stave off discomfort like Maleficent’s power always had. 

It felt to go on for minutes. It was difficult to tell, really. The noises he was making did not seem to be coming from his own body, more like an awful dream that had been placed into the back of his mind and he was now reliving it. When the pain finally stopped, he was on the verge of unconsciousness, piled at Wynne’s feet in the form of a sorry, bedraggled wolf. 

He couldn’t move. His heart fluttered weakly in its exhaustion. When he was seized by his hind feet and dragged out of the house, he did not fight it, allowing himself to be dropped into the snow and left there for the other wolves to sniff at. 

“You’re nothing,” a voice hissed into his ear. “_No one_. If they wanted you back, wouldn’t they be here by now?”

And there he lay for hours, a stark black shape of nothing in the snow. 

* * *

The Guardian of the Moors sat stoically beside the sleeping form of her feverish daughter for three nights.

For three nights, Aurora was dead to the world, tossing and turning within the flower bed amidst a concerned flock of fairies and pixies. Phillip was asleep beside her, too. He had not left his wife’s side since hearing of the sudden illness that had struck her.

For three nights, the magical forests of the Moors were silent.

There was no laughter. There was no persistent cawing of a raven up in the trees. There was only a foul wind that moved among the leaves, leaving a behind a cursed taint and the chill of frost. Fearing that Aurora would succumb to her grief, Maleficent had been unable to leave.

In the early hours of the fourth night, Maleficent finally rose and drifted to the pond that sat in the centre of Aurora’s private grove. Fireflies hovered hopefully over the water, spinning upwards and away when the faerie rose a single hand and gently disturbed the pond with her magic.

”Show me Diaval.”

The clear water turned black, and then white pierced through the centre, eventually spreading to the outer edges. And then ice creeped over the surface, freezing it over entirely. The fairies watching nearby gasped and then covered their little faces with their hands, sinking into the drooping flowers among the willow trees. 

Maleficent dropped her hand and stared into the frozen depths. Within her, she could feel the heartbeat of another softly thrumming alongside her own, bound together with an old magic. 

“My dear bird,” she said into the silence, bowing her head. “Don’t you dare let go.”


	6. The Phoenix and the Raven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another warning regarding the tags: if there is anything that makes you uncomfortable, you can probably read the first section of this chapter and then leave off. There is nothing explicit but better safe than sorry. 
> 
> Thank you guys for your ongoing support!

It happened at least six more times over an indeterminable span.

Their pattern was thus: Diaval would venture into Wickpon and aid the people there from the shadows under the guise of causing the havoc Wynne asked of him. He would return with minimal loot or even empty-handed, for his day had really been spent delivering food and blankets to the windows of impoverished families, distributing the wealth in the dark castle outwards to the people. Wynne would make her advances regardless, which Diaval would whole-heartedly reject in favour of the agonising transformations that she tormented him with in response. 

One night, she transformed him several times, back and forth, back and forth, a clear delight for his pain gleaming in the pale blue of her crazed eyes. He lost any real concept of what he was being turned into. She did enjoy turning him into a wolf or a dog after realising how much he feared the pack outside, and usually made him sleep among them at night to spite him, but when she was particularly insulted by his adamant rejections, she would turn him into something small and then back to his human shape to make the entire ordeal as excruciating as it could possibly be. 

Fresh from that particular punishment, Diaval crawled outside in his human form, blood pouring from his nose from the sheer strain of what he had endured at the witch’s hands. Just how long he remained slumped in a snowy mound after that, he had no idea; it was sometimes difficult to tell night from day in the cursed kingdom, as the sky was always concealed by storm clouds and there seemed to be no such thing as the laws of nature, the Sun, Moon, and stars. He woke from a half-sleep, shivering and limbs burning with unseen fire. 

The wolves were watching from their spot beside the dark, frozen river. The smell of his blood had to be enticing. Fear prickling, Diaval reluctantly recalled how it had felt to have those teeth sinking into him, seconds from ripping him apart. A sickness rose in his belly, one he was forced to succumb to in a bout of uncontrollable panic. On his hands and knees, he heaved painfully and tasted the coppery tang of blood. 

When he eventually found the ability to move again, he crawled up over the snowy mound and let himself slide down the other side, unwittingly landing in a pile of rancid bones left there by the wolves. Almost emptying his stomach a second time, he clambered out of the pit and into the woods, where frozen leaves cracked under his palms and black trees towered over him like the spires of a castle. Diaval stumbled on until he couldn’t see the house or the wolves behind him.

He was good at falling asleep in difficult places. His crowning achievement was probably the time he had settled his raven self between Maleficent’s horns and dozed off there. The faerie had been far too preoccupied with her dark, vengeful thoughts to really notice. Now, he did what he had done outside Aurora’s grove and found a comfortable spot within the gnarled, twisting roots of the trees, curling up there with the vague hope he might be able to hide from Wynne there forever. 

Ravens watched silently from the dead trees. They fluttered between them every now and then, moving from shadow to shadow. The soft, broken creaking of the branches in the wind was a song of pain; he knew what forests sounded like when they were unbalanced. All trees were connected beneath the soil, and Diaval could feel the agony of his surroundings. He could hear the near silent whispers of the wild that no true human would have been able to listen to. 

But he was powerless to do anything to help. 

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, he stared into the gloomy crown of the forest as the world slowly began to spin. The tops of the trees scraped at the murky grey-white sky like dark talons, frost-capped and dying, shedding snow over his aching body. His eyes were hot and suddenly weighted and he had no choice but to close them to relieve the discomfort. 

He’d failed, then. 

There was no chance of him getting up again. Not only did everything hurt too much but for the first time, his determination was fumbling and falling into the nothingness. How could he persist knowing full well his fate? The Moors had Maleficent and Maleficent would defend them with her powerful magic, she could destroy the Moon Witch with ease if it suited her. His family would likely survive the monster snowstorm and then live their lives in the magical Moors.

Likely. Those odds just weren’t enough, not for him. 

His mind turned away from the cold and to brighter, warmer things. Aurora. Tiny thing, she had only just learnt how to walk. Diaval had held her pacifier in his beak and flew back, encouraging her uncertain little steps, and then she crash landed in front of him, giggling her heart out. The Sun had shone so brightly that day. If only he had been able to hold her.

Maleficent had smiled within the shadows of the forest. Beautiful. She had spent the rest of that day in a good mood, humming inanely as they both retreated back and allowed the three bumbling pixies to take over - but their eyes never drifted away from Aurora. They would be with her in secret, watching her grow up into the bubbly, brave woman that she was. 

They would be fine. Wouldn’t they? They would be fine. He had promised to be there, but they would be fine.

But what if …

Diaval forced his stinging eyes open. He felt something pinching at his sleeve, trying to attract his attention. Weakly glancing down, he was surprised to find an entire unkindness of ravens looking back at him.

Many of them had settled down atop his person, fluffing up their feathers and lending their warmth. Others lined the roots of the trees, their heads twitching this way and that when he finally moved, and they cawed brazenly at him. There was one pecking at his arm and then grabbing the material of his sleeve to tug at him, clearly demanding that he get up, though it was unclear how that was going to benefit _ them_. 

He didn't need cajoling. He would have gotten up again. It was just taking longer and longer to do so, now. There was no way that he was not going to continue defending his family, even if it was from miles and miles away.

His back screamed at him when he forced himself into a seated position. The ravens flew up off his body and spiralled over his head in a flurry of black feathers, a defensive dance that he knew all too well. They were trying to protect him, encourage him. They had not lost hope, even if their home was singing a sad, dying song. Even if they were alone in the woods, fighting what looked to be a lost cause. There was something to be said of their determination. 

The unkindness gathered in the trees beyond, cawing insistently, now. One of them sat on his shoulder and tugged on his ear, flapping its wings. 

“_Ow_,” Diaval croaked, and he very slowly got to his feet. “What do you want?”

The raven on his shoulder clicked its beak and tilted its head inquisitively. _ Follow, _ was what that usually meant.

So, he followed. Using the trees to help him along, Diaval ambled deeper into the woods. The ravens would fly ahead and direct him, then fly back and pull at him if he ever stopped. They continued that way for some time, and the woods gradually thickened, the shadows grew longer, and its sorrowful song became one of great pain, howling with the wind and creaking mournfully with the forgotten trees. 

He began to notice something strange about the place. It was a feeling, and one he knew well. It was the feeling of being somewhere old and powerful. When he leant onto something he thought was another tree, he felt the cold of stone beneath his fingers and he looked up, surprised to find a statue not unlike the stone guardians that stood in a circle around the Moors. Looking to the side, he saw more of them among the trees, their towering, solid forms keeping their ancient gaze on the outside world and protecting whatever rested beyond.

What was this place? He knew that once upon a time, the Moors had not been the only bastion of the magical, but the ever increasing spread of humanity had driven them away from their old haunts. Or so he thought - he had never been this far north. 

The raven on his shoulder loudly clicked its beak. _ Go on! _

He did so, moving past the stone guardian and into the mysterious wilds beyond. The old magic lying dormant in every tree, every creature that happened across his path was a great comfort, for it reminded him of the Moors and its mystery. _ Home _ . Only it was different, too; he had never seen glowing white harts in the Moors. He spotted them every now and again lighting up the darkness between the trees, and they raised their heads to regard him with impassive black eyes. Oversized hares hopped across his path and then sat on their rear legs to watch him, noses twitching. And then - was that a _ fairy? _

It was! The creature, no taller than his hand, peeped around the trunk of a tree at him. He had never seen one of that kind before. Its skin was pale blue and its wings were webbed with ice, and it glittered like an early Winter’s morning. A frost fairy? It had antennae and large eyes, and it chattered nervously in fairy-language when it saw it had been spotted. 

More of them appeared from the trees. Others popped up from underneath the snow. As their confidence grew, they fluttered closer and flew around him, chittering excitedly.

“Er.” Diaval stopped to admire them, smiling in pleasant surprise. Maybe magic did still exist in other parts of the world, after all. “Hello. Sorry to just … barge in, er, the ravens … oh.” One of the fairies landed on his outstretched hand mid-explanation. She wore a gown of frozen leaves and wore a crown of ice, and she brandished a twig at him like a sceptre. Then, she jabbed the twig towards where the unkindness was sat waiting in a tree beyond. “Oh, all right. Your Majesty?” He bowed awkwardly towards the creature in his hand, and she beamed back at him with pointed little teeth.

He thought he might have been dreaming as he continued on, a raven on one shoulder and a fairy queen on the other. Whether it was all a dream or not, it was a welcome departure from reality. Led by the unkindness and followed by excitedly chirping fairies, Diaval made his way into the magical woods and eventually came across a grove of naked oak trees and fields of bright, glowing tomb-bloom.

Chunks of moss-covered stone scattered the place, getting bigger and bigger as they led towards a large ruins there among the trees. The structure was simple in nature: not too tall, not too wide, a square pyramid of stone that ended in a small terrace. Wing-shaped pillars held the roof of the terrace aloft. 

And just beyond, the snowstorm raged, forming a perfect, impenetrable wall that no traveller could possibly venture through. 

Diaval beheld the ancient place with awe. Struck with curiosity and the same strange sense of _ knowing _he’d had in the woods of the forest fae, he approached the stone structure rising from the earth and very carefully ascended the crumbling, icy steps, watched by raven and fairy alike. The pair on his shoulders fluttered off to join their comrades, falling into silence.

When he reached the terrace, he found a square font of water set within the stone. On the other side was a statue of a raven not unlike the one he had seen at the ancestral home of the Dark Fae, only this one was larger and steaming water poured from its great, stone beak into the font. Quickly going to it, he put his hands beneath the warm stream and gratefully cleaned his face of any blood and dirt.

When he peered curiously behind the statue, he found that the water drained underneath the pyramid and into a stream near hidden in the cold mists of the forest. The beginnings of the river, perhaps, now encased in ice. He squinted, and thought he saw small, glowing shapes moving about over the stream, but then they disappeared and the only light in the grove was that of the quiet tomb-bloom that marked the graves of fallen fairies. 

The fiery light of them lit up the raven statue from below. Drying his face off on his tunic before the water on it could freeze, he took a step back and regarded the relic of times long past. Dark Fae must have lived in these woods, once. Forest Fae. The place must have served as a homage to the woodland spirit - what was his name? Mori’ka? Said to have been a guide to the dead before his passing. Maybe it was why the magical folk had decided to bury those who had passed there.

He turned to look for the fairies and the ravens, but they were gone. 

The snow was gone, too. In fact, the entire forest was suddenly alive again, green leaves springing from the oak trees and daisies blooming in the grass. The ruins were no longer in pieces across the ground but fully formed and clean of frost and moss. There was no tomb-bloom, and fairies of all kinds floated about the trees among the iridescent fireflies. 

It was beautiful, but he knew that it wasn’t real. 

Diaval blinked hard to try and free himself of what could only be another vision. He could still feel the freezing cold of reality, he could feel snowflakes pelting his face up there on the stone pyramid, but just couldn’t see any of it. What he saw was a time long past and he wondered what purpose it really served at all, but then he was distracted from his thoughts by movement down below. 

From the trees emerged a woman. A faerie, but Diaval had the feeling that she only really looked like one, for the power of another kind of creature burned there in her green gold eyes. A river of black hair streamed down her back, and her skin was like starlight, her natural radiance and indescribable beauty lighting up the entire world. She looked up at the pyramid, at him, through him, and his heart jolted in his chest. 

“Come down, spirit,” she called in a pure, musical voice. “I’m not scared of you.”

Diaval turned to find another unkindness of ravens covering the statue and the ground and the great stone pillars. Among them was a dark shape, something strange that shifted and took no real form. Dark feathers and leaves blew about within its incorporeal body. The shape shifted urgently and he could feel its panic as it tried to settle on something, anything, that might be worthy of being seen by the being stood below. It swiftly decided on trying to look like her, though it didn’t do a very good job of it: the shape it formed was a terrifying amalgamation of man and raven, covered with shiny black feathers. Its feet were still that of a bird and the dark beak on its face was large enough to crack skulls. The wings on the creature’s back nervously fluttered as it stepped away from the comfort of its unkindness. 

Despite the monstrosity peering down at her, the faerie woman smiled and inclined her head in greeting. 

“Is this you?” She asked of it, moving gracefully to the bottom of the stairs. Lifting her dress up slightly, she began to ascend. 

The creature clacked its beak and took a nervous step back. _ I’m not sure. _

The faerie paused, gently regarding the spirit. 

“Don’t be afraid. We are not so different, you and I.”

The creature tilted its feathered head. _ Aren’t we? _

“We both hatched from eggs, did we not?” The woman said with a soft smile, continuing on up the stairs until she reached the top. Diaval was stood right next to her, then, but she could not see him as he could see her. “A long time ago, back when the world was new.”

In response, the spirit squawked nervously and disappeared back into its shapeless form, an anxious tornado of feathers and forest sediment. The faerie was not perturbed by that. She only regarded the creature with a mixture of awe and warm fondness, her smile reaching across her starlit face. Diaval would have thought her the most beautiful being in the world if he had not already known Maleficent.

“Mori’ka, why did you run from me? Did I take a wrong step?” The faerie asked, and her dark, gossamer wings opened. With a mischievous sort of look, she turned and had them on full display, showing off every lovely feather, and she looked coyly over her shoulder. 

Diaval could feel Mori’ka’s intensifying nervousness as much as he could see it. He could feel the potent admiration, the rising excitement, the frantic disbelief. He could feel it because he had _ known _ it. Maleficent had invited him in and for a while, all he knew was her, the sharpness of her claws across his back, the sweetness of her lips against his. But he had always known her intimately to some degree. He had known her secrets, her good heart, her wants and fears. He had been by her side for so long, and how he missed her, now. How he loved her.

_ I’m not like you, _said the spirit, transforming into a vaguely raven-like shape as if to strengthen his point, and then he looked something more like a man, dark eyes alight with both intrigue and a deep sorrow. 

“No,” the Phoenix agreed, smiling over her shoulder at him. “You are you.”

A single flap of her wings took her into the air and back down into the grove, where she turned and looked up at the woodland spirit. Mori’ka followed her down at once, floating to the earth and reassembling himself into a humanoid shape. 

The pair stared at each other. The couldn’t take their eyes off each other. Watched by fairy and beast alike, they began to circle each other with slow steps, wings and garments fluttering in the warm, welcoming wind. Flower petals and fireflies blew past them, and then they came together at last - the faerie was lifted into the air by the spirit, her wings spread and her legs elegantly poised. He held her up for the entire forest to see in a dance of intrigue, and then he brought her back down to his chest, touching his forehead against hers. 

Diaval watched from atop the monument. He probably should have felt very alone as he watched the vision unfold, but he didn’t. Something in his heart that had been smothered by cold was rekindled, because he knew what it was that the pair were feeling. What they _ did _ feel. It was something that had no beginning and no end, and he was lucky enough to have it right there inside him. Maybe Maleficent had even felt the same way about him, for a time.

He blinked, and the Phoenix was gone. The life and vitality and the magic of the world disappeared and he was blinded by the white of snow. 

But the mysterious woodland spirit was still there, dark and strange, looking up at him with round, mirror-like black eyes. It was the fading vision of a memory, Diaval knew, because Mori’ka was as dead as a spirit could be, only living on in the blood of his winged companions. 

Mori’ka raised a black claw and pointed to where the castle of Wickpon could be seen over the trees. Diaval looked at it, somehow understanding what it was the being wanted him to do. He turned his gaze back to the spirit and nodded, feeling the looming shadow of the great statue behind him. 

With that, Mori’ka bowed and then faded back to the past in which he belonged. 

The tendrils of his power whispered into the frigid wind. The unkindness of ravens cawed and took to the sky, darkening it with black feathers.

Diaval stood in silence as the winds receded. He had seen too many strange things in his time to really question it, and neither was he really in the state of mind to. With another glance towards the castle, he gingerly descended the stone steps and sat down on the bottommost one, where the queen of the frost fairies watched him from a tiny makeshift throne of ice.

He held out his hand to her, and she stepped on it willingly to be brought up to his face, hands on her hips. 

“Thank you for bringing me here, Your Majesty,” he said politely. He then gestured towards a cluster of tomb-bloom nearby. “Is this what happened to the other fairies?”

The frost fairy followed his gaze, then nodded sadly. 

“I’m sorry,” Diaval murmured, eyes falling as a deep sorrow arose. “I really think that we can take back this land. For their sake. For the humans starving in the town. I … really think that. It’s going to be hard, but there’s only one Moon Witch and thousands of us, and I think I know how we can do it.” 

Holding out his other hand, he invited a raven to land on his forearm and he regarded the pair solemnly. Feeling hundreds of pairs of eyes upon him, his nerves spiked but his determination remained as solid as stone. 

“This Winter is spreadin’ to the other kingdoms. Maybe we’re small creatures in the scheme of things, but we can help stop it. Even you,” he said to the crowns the trees above. He was sure he heard the quiet creak of wood in response. “Send a message to the Moors. To Maleficent. Tell her this kingdom is trapped and suffering. If she can get to the storm’s edge, I will take things from there.” Looking back at the fairy and the raven, he managed something of a smile. “We need to do a great kindness. I’m gonna get the humans out of the town and ready to travel south. When the time comes, will you help me?”

The raven clacked its beak. The fairy queen nodded.

“All right. I know it’s a lot to ask, but it might be our only way out of this. The Moon Witch can’t take any more lives. Keep an eye on Wickpon and when everyone is out, you’ll know it’s time.”

At once, they all gathered to discuss the plan in their own strange languages, leaving Diaval alone there in the grove to try and figure out his side of things. He knew near enough what he had to do. He had to get the humans on side and convince them to leave their homes, which would be no easy task. And then he had to get the emerald from Wynne and hope that Maleficent turned up on time, if she even wanted to come at all. 

She would. He knew she would. Would _ he _ play his part well enough for it all to come together? Though he’d had his share of adventures, he had never conducted it alone before, he was usually obeying orders or offering advice. The responsibility on his shoulders suddenly felt like the weight of the world; he might have failed Maleficent by not considering her in a moment of clumsy, heightened passion, but if he failed these people, too, then they would surely perish in the cold. 

With one last glance towards the raven monument, he turned and headed back whence he came, touching nervously at a tree on his way out of the grove. 

“And if you can,” he murmured, his hand shivering against the dried bark, “tell her I’m sorry.”

* * *

When he got back to the farmhouse ruins, Wynne’s mood had not improved. When he sidled cautiously in through the door, she spun around from her spot at the table and glared at him suspiciously, quickly grabbing her staff. Grape juice spilled down past her lips, and she unabashedly licked it away, not taking her piercing gaze from him for a moment.

“Where have you been?!” She snapped, wiping her chin on her arm. “You’re supposed to be _ here._”

“I was off in the woods lookin’ for food. All that transforming makes a man a bit hungry.”

“There _ is _ no food in the woods. Nothing to suit your current shape.”

“I don’t know,” Diaval responded lightheartedly, though he could not meet her eyes, inwardly cowering at the prospect of what she might do if he stayed there in that house for too long. “Still partial to bugs. Maybe the occasional mouse. Swallow them down whole, me, unless I feel like a good crunch.”

Wynne pulled a face at that and shuddered. “Eurgh.”

Pleased to have put her off, he twitched his eyebrows and continued to hover cautiously by the door, sparing her a quick glance just to make sure she was still wearing the emerald around her neck. Indeed, the vibrant tip of it was still poking out her dress above her sternum.

“I was thinkin’ on me way around,” he continued. “Couldn’t help but look at that castle and wonder if there’s anyone left ruling from in there.”

“Why?” Wynne said quickly. “It’s Queen Mera. Nobody of consequence. I killed her husband and she’s been holed up in that tower ever since. She probably died in there.”

“A queen’s a queen. Luckily for you, I know a thing or two about putting royalty to sleep. If you promise not to … transform me like that again, I’ll do it for you.” Diaval forced a beleaguered expression. Truth be told, he didn’t really have to act, for he genuinely feared Wynne and the cruel ways she could hurt him, only now he was being open about it for a purpose. Staring firmly at the floor, he brought his hands together and fiddled anxiously. “I can’t handle you doin’ that again. I’ll remove the opposition in your stead.”

The witch regarded him closely from beneath her shaggy white bangs. He could almost hear the cogs whirring in her head.

“That isn’t what I wanted,” she growled, though her tone suggested she was considering the idea. 

“No. Right. It’s a good move for you, though. Sort of establishes you as the rightful queen of Wickpon, doesn’t it? The people … well, they’ll have no choice but to welcome you in. To love you.”

Wynne’s head tilted curiously at that, greed fixed in her expression. Inching forwards, she pressed the tip of her staff underneath Diaval’s chin and slowly forced his head up. 

“And you?” She asked breathlessly, eyes wide. “Are you a fussy boy? Is it a faerie queen that you want?”

Thinking quickly, he tried to match her expression, masterfully lining it with traces of fear and thrill all at once. He swallowed and backed himself against the wall, keeping his throat exposed. As expected, her eyes drifted down to it and she bared her fangs as if willing herself not to bite. Yet.

“I don’t know,” he rasped as naively as possible. “When you put it like that … I suppose we’ll just have to find out. We can talk about it more when I come back tonight, having handed you the crown.”

Wynne smiled at that. Raising a cold hand, she patted his cheek.

“Clever, clever bird. You should know that I lost my patience a long time ago.”

Diaval’s heart sank. That didn’t bode well.

“Right - well, then. I’d best get going -“ Making a beeline for the door, he was terrified to find a powerful wing hooking around him and pulling him back. His attempt to stay her patience had not been enough, and it seemed that he had only succeeded in putting a different kind of idea in her head. He had made his offer, and yet she had wanted more than death, more than a crown. 

She wanted power. She wanted to hurt. Unless he thought of something quickly, he was going to be her target again. 

“Am I not queenly enough for you?” Wynne barked aggressively, and she pulled him back to seize him by the tunic. Unless he was mistaken, there was a genuine upset to the lines of her pointed face, one that he found difficult to look at. “A faerie compared to a raven! And you had the gall to say _ no _ … and I was pathetic enough to listen. You can go and kill the queen later!” She pushed him towards the edge of the nest.

“Wait -“

“Do you know how much it hurt?” She continued, and she pushed him again until he stumbled over the side of the nest and onto his back. “Waiting, always waiting! Always to be the one courting. Always to get a _ no _in response. Is there something wrong with me?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Diaval managed before he could stop himself, then scrambled backwards in an attempt to escape the faerie’s ire. How was he supposed to get out of this one?! Numb with the shock of it, he made to dive out of the nest but only found himself being pulled back in by the legs and then forced onto his back.

She was much stronger than him. He was remembering that the hard way. 

“I can’t,” he insisted, desperate now. His heart was pounding violently in his chest and he felt dizzy with it, kicking his legs out in an attempt to fight her off. “It’s impossible! I’m already -“

“Taken?” Wynne laughed, and she slid herself across his waist to pin him down, keeping his hands forcibly held above his head. “Maybe the raven is, but men don’t work that way, do they?”

All Diaval could think about was how wrong it was. This was nothing like what he had seen in the vision of Mori’ka and the Phoenix, where the courtship had been slow and thoughtful and gentle, entirely loving. It was nothing like that short but sweet moment in a moonlit cave with Maleficent, where they had been content with a soft exploration of one another. Was this how Maleficent had felt the second he had touched her wings? How could he had betrayed her like that? How could he have been so stupid?

Why couldn’t she have just turned him into a fae, something _ powerful _. A mere man wasn’t enough, a man was weak to talons and teeth. A man was prey, caught in the nest of a loveless monster who sought to validate herself through cruelty and a power few could match. If he continued to fight back, she would transform him and inflict that indescribable pain. He couldn’t bear the thought, not again, but even then he had not felt as powerless as he did now.

It wasn’t really happening, was it? It couldn’t be. Wynne couldn’t really be that cruel.

But he knew. The world was not the Moors. He knew that.

His blood ran cold with horror. His thoughts continued to spiral until he forced himself to focus on one important thing to try and take his mind off everything being taken from him. 

_ Please get the message to Maleficent. Please get it to her quickly. _

* * *

“Maleficent!”

Maleficent did not react to her name being called. She was watching her daughter read, her thoughts drifting. 

Aurora had finally woken up earlier that day. Her fever was gone, only she was weak and she was not smiling as much as she usually did. The young queen was riveted by a book of fairytales but she did not eagerly relay them to her mother as she might have done in the past. 

Maleficent felt responsible. She understood, now, the implications of what she had done, and that she had failed to control her emotions in her great fear of them. She knew that she had failed to protect her family in her efforts to protect herself, and now misery had fallen upon all of them. Though she had not been able to help her reaction to being touched and the memories that came with it, she had been responsible for the thoughtlessness that came after. Nobody else deserved to suffer for the things Stefan had done. 

“Maleficent!” The high-pitched voice was louder, now. Knotgrass and Thistlewit burst into Aurora’s grove from the willow leaves, urgently fluttering over.

“What is the meaning of this?” The faerie demanded of them, rising to her feet. “The queen is resting!”

“Oh, we know! Oh, do pardon us, dear,” Knotgrass insisted beseechingly at Aurora, her tiny hands wringing. “The trees have delivered a message from the kingdom of Wickpon and it’s of great importance!”

At that, Aurora slung her book to the side and immediately sat up, causing a burst of butterflies to emerge from the flower bed. 

“Wickpon … that kingdom is to the north! What is the message?!”

“It’s a request for aid. Wickpon is suffering within the snowstorm, the poor dears! The people are getting ready to evacuate southwards but they need help! It says if you can go to the storm’s edge outside the kingdom, Maleficent, then … oh, I don’t know! Something will happen!”

“There was also an apology,” Thistlewit quickly added, then shrugged. “Who knows what for? What do we do?!”

Maleficent softly gasped, a deep ache setting into her heart.

“Diaval,” she murmured. “He is sending them to Ulstead.”

Meeting Aurora’s gaze, they stared at each other a moment as the news sank home. The urgency of it meant that there was little time to dawdle. Despite that she was still recovering, the queen took charge at once. 

“Knotgrass, Thistlewit, get a message to King John. Ask him to prepare the city for new arrivals and that some of them might be injured. The Moors will offer all the aid that we can. Mother -“

“I’ll send faeries to escort them safely,” Maleficent said at once, though her resolve faltered when a soft hand wrapped around hers.

“Mother,” Aurora said gently, and she smiled a sweet and wise sort of smile. “Mother, _ go. _ They need you. _ He _ needs you. If the Moon Witch really does have the emerald, they have more to worry about than the cold.”

She was right, of course. Leaving would be the right thing to do, but it also meant leaving her behind. Agonised by the prospect, Maleficent struggled with herself, gazing concernedly at her one daughter as fears of the unknown clouded her mind. Aurora’s smile only broadened in response.

“I’ll be fine! The baby is not due for weeks yet. Phillip will be here to fret in your stead.”

“But -“

“No buts, mother. This is my request of you, as your queen. Lend Wickpon your power, but be careful. Bring yourself home. Bring him home, too. Please.”

Even a faerie as powerful as Maleficent could not fight the large, beseeching eyes of Queen Aurora, who had more power than she really knew. Leaning down, she kissed the young woman’s forehead and then pressed her own against it, holding her close. 

“I love you, Beastie.”

“And I love you. Stay safe.”

Reluctantly making to leave, Maleficent paused a moment, bringing her hands together. There was a beautiful flourish of golden magic, and then a long, dark garment appeared between her fingers. It was a cloak with a mantle of raven feathers - the very same one that Diaval had left behind that night. She moved to the flower bed and gently laid it over Aurora’s legs.

“There is much of him in you,” she said quietly, attempting a smile. Then, she abruptly turned and left between the willow trees, Knotgrass and Thistlewit fluttering behind her. 

* * *

Diaval sat in silence, curled in on himself. 

The crackling of the hearth reminded him that he had somehow survived what could only be described as a vengeful frenzy. He could hardly move: his skin was laden with claw marks and even bites, but he couldn’t really acknowledge the pain of it as it didn’t yet feel to be a part of his body. 

What hurt was the unnatural nature of it. Diaval was a bonded raven, and ravens were entirely monogamous. Maybe in the end Maleficent had not seen him that way, but that did nothing to change his instincts. He was meant to be by her side, always, no matter what sort of relationship that entailed. He wanted to talk to her, comfort her, laugh with her, watch over Aurora with her, and yet his human form had betrayed him. How cruel it was that he had not been able to control anything that had happened, and now he had done the unthinkable with somebody he was not bonded with at all. 

It was a strange feeling. Agonising, and yet he would fall into vacant thoughts, not seeing anything in front of him. He couldn’t even really remember anything that happened, but maybe that was just the shock of it. All he knew was it had lasted much longer than he’d thought it would. Maybe Wynne had been determined to drag it out for as long as possible just because she could. There really was no reason to doubt her cold-hearted nature, now. 

He almost envied her. She was sat on the other side of the nest, braiding her hair and humming inanely, a red flush to her cheeks. She really just didn’t care, or maybe she didn’t understand what she had done. The Moon Witch had taken what she thought belonged to her and in her world, that was nothing wicked. That was justice. It was the way people like her saw reality and that thought in of itself was terrifying. 

Staring blankly through the hole in the roof, he sat long enough to see the misty skies changing colour. Either evening was drawing in or there was to be another storm. Whatever the case, he had to get into the town. Regardless of what happened to him, there was still work to be done.

Stiffly clambering out of the nest, he peeled off the shredded remnants of his clothes, hissing quietly as the scratches across his person stretched with the movement. He couldn’t even look down at himself to take in the damage - to do so would only solidify what she had done. Picking clothes from the heap on the floor, he very slowly dressed himself as not to agitate the rising sickness in his belly.

“Where are you going?” Wynne demanded, breaking the silence. Diaval winced.

“Goin’ the castle,” he muttered, and the sound of his voice shocked even him. It was even raspier than usual with not a single mote of music to it. “Said I would, didn’t I?” His arms screamed in protest as he pulled a new tunic over his head. The scratchy material agitated the thin wounds raked over him, though he did not complain, knowing it would get him nowhere. 

“Ah, yes, my crown!” Wynne giggled, flopping carelessly back into the nest to watch him. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here?”

Oh, he was sure. He’d rather endure wolves and blizzards than go through whatever hell _ that _had been again. Of course, he could not say as much; Wynne had to be convinced that he was in tune with her if his plan was to have a chance at success. 

Though it killed him to do so, he finally looked at her.

“We have forever, you know. Let me do this for you, first. No time like the present ‘n all that.” Diaval attempted something of a smirk, then rose to his feet, pulling a tattered cloak up with him to sling it around his shoulders. “You rest, now. I think you’ll need it.”

He almost gagged when Wynne smirked back at him. 

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” She asked in a sickeningly sweet sort of way. “Fine. Bring something nice back for me while you’re there, won’t you?” Her head tilted. “Are you going like that?”

“Can’t do much as a raven, Mistress. The castle is nearly empty, I can get to the tower like this.”

“Hm. Just don’t take too long. And do try not to get yourself killed out there. I was _ just _ starting to like you.”

With that callous farewell imparted on him, Diaval nodded and then ventured outside into the snow. Walking stoically past the staring wolves and along the river’s edge, it wasn’t until he turned a corner and the house was out of view that he allowed himself to stumble.

His throat was tight, he could hardly breathe. Something may as well have been gripping it from the outside, but there was nobody else there. Only him. Wheezing past that aching lump in his throat, it took him some time to realise through a spiralling upset that he was on his hands and knees. What had been a numb, dull sort of acceptance was now a broken carousel of hurt and _ rage, rage, rage _ , burning like fire in a dragon’s belly. The bear in him was roaring, the wolf was snarling and hungry to tear into _ something, _the horse was pounding its hooves into the earth.

The raven was crying.

He had to go on.

Unburying his hands from the snow, he shoved them under his arms to warm them up as he shakily got to his feet. His anger was so great that it was a wonder the ice around him did not melt. Baring his teeth, Diaval moved on and every step he took felt as though he was being weighed down with iron. Despite how much it hurt, despite the icy curse burrowing deeply into his heart, he had made a promise and if he had to kill two birds with one stone, then he would. The kingdom of Wickpon deserved better than a witch’s rage, and they were running out of time. 

Diaval swallowed back his anger and his contempt and tarried on. It wasn’t the time for it, yet, but that would come if all went to plan.

In the woods nearby, ravens followed him in the shadows. He wasn’t alone. He could hear them reminding him of their presence, waiting for their time.

He wasn’t alone.

* * *

Illustration by swankkat!


	7. The Hunt

It might have seemed the town was abandoned if not for the occasional flicker of candlelight in a window. Certainly, most of the town was empty considering much of it was buried under rolling dunes of snow, and what was left of the townsfolk seemed to have been relegated to a few long high streets of a once bustling kingdom. Most of the shops were closed down, sealed with wooden planks across the doors and windows. There was not a soul in sight. 

Diaval might have picked up on some of the more finer details were he not so entrenched in his thoughts. It was difficult for him to make sense of what he was feeling; he had never been in a situation like that before, and though he had never been ignorant of what such things entailed, he now wasn’t entirely sure what was supposed to happen and what wasn’t. His entire vision of it all had been distorted and it occurred to him that he didn’t actually want to be thinking about it. It all made him feel ignorant and even embarrassed and somehow dirtied by what had happened.

Oddly, he thought back to the time when Maleficent left him alone with Prince Phillip to have _ the talk_, and he’d had the feeling he was supposed to be intimidating the poor boy into a life of abstinence and disinterest in Aurora, but they had just ended up playing chess in the Field of Delight for a few hours. The prince had not been delighted, however, when Diaval encouraged his fairy pieces to pinch Phillip’s right on their ears.

He really was homesick. 

Moving up along the broad, shadowed street that led straight to the castle gates, Diaval made it about halfway until he came across a tavern that showed some semblance of life: the windows were warm with light and there was chatter emerging from the thick, wooden door. The sign hanging over it said that the tavern was once called ‘The Horse’s Head’, but it had since been more suitably named, ‘The Harpy’s Head’ with red paint, complete with a vicious illustration to match. 

A stocky woman with a head full of dark, greying curls emerged from the door just as he passed, a smoking pipe between her lips. Diaval quickly drew his cloak around himself and pressed on, hoping that he could sneak by unnoticed, but it was too late.

“You there!” The woman called, brushing shreds of tobacco off her apron. She leaned in for a closer look when he turned to briefly look at her, and her eyebrows raised. “Goodness gracious. You look as though you could do with a good night’s sleep and four shots of mulberry gin, young man.”

He didn’t really know what he looked like. A mess, probably. Though momentarily ensnared by the kindness of the woman, he just offered her a nervous smile and gestured towards the castle. 

“Don’t really have time. I need to have a meeting with the queen.”

“Nonsense. Looking like that? At least scrub up a bit before you go visiting royalty, huh? She might take you more seriously if you look an iota respectable.” The woman smiled back at him and offered out her hand. “There’s a lad. All on the house, y’know. Money doesn’t go very far in these parts anymore.” 

She had a point - he probably wasn’t going to get very far looking like he had just rolled down the far side of a mountain and through a swamp. Though he was in something of a hurry, there was still a little bit of time before nightfall, and clean water certainly sounded a luxury he realised he had come to take for granted. It would also be something to not be in the presence of a person who wanted to hurt him, though he remained cautious, now, inching towards the stranger as though she might lash out at any moment. 

She dropped her hand when she realised he wasn’t going to take it, but she seemed pleased by his approach. Looking him all over with concern, she took one last puff on her pipe and then emptied the contents onto the snow. 

“You’re bleeding,” she observed, nodding her head towards his abdomen. “Have a run in with the witch, did you?”

Diaval looked down and saw blood spotting on his tunic. Gritting his teeth, he covered himself with the cloak and stared firmly at the ground.

“More of an extended stay,” he admitted moodily.

“Oh, dear,” was the saddened response, and the lady’s voice was suddenly full of understanding. “I wondered how I hadn’t seen you before. Looks like she’s importing them in, now, is she?” At his apparent look of confusion, she continued, “You’re not the first one. She kidnapped men from this town, including the king himself. Five of ‘em altogether. Poor things.” The lady paused, considering. “What business have you with the queen?”

Diaval took a breath, nervously looking off down the street in the direction he had arrived. 

“You all need to leave,” he said, lacking the energy to try and sugar coat any of it. “I thought if I got her on side, you all might be more inclined to get out of this town before Wynne starves you all to death.”

The woman stared at him a moment, mouth falling open. She gathered herself up with admirable speed and then turned to open the tavern door, parting it a little way so that he could see the stairs straight ahead.

“Upstairs with you. Quickly, now, before the others take any interest.”

Flinching slightly as the voices beyond the door grew in volume, Diaval froze and remained where he was. How could he really trust any of them? Wynne could have worked one of her spells to turn them on side, or maybe it was all one of her illusions, and then she’d appear as soon as he was locked inside -

“Darling,” the lady said gently, breaking him out of his panicked train of thought. “No harm will come to you in my tavern. We’re a peaceful lot and half-starved. Get yourself inside and we can talk about what you intend to ask the queen. Come on.”

Gulping, Diaval edged his way into the building and did not spare the tavern itself even a glance as he shot for the stairs. Waiting skittishly at the top for the kindly stranger, he did give his surroundings a quick glance, then, turning quickly to get a look into every room. There were several of them lining a homely corridor, most of them with simple beds. One bathroom. It seemed as comfortable as a human home could be. 

Hearing the woman titter, he made room for her as she ascended the stairs after him.

“You move just like a bird,” she observed with some amusement, but then she stopped and turned to look at him. _ Really _ look at him. Her intense brown eyes positively scoured him, from his feet up to the blackened claws on his fingers, and then to the scar-like markings that were visible on his face and neck. Then she looked into his eyes like one might read a particularly interesting passage of a book, flicking back and forth between them. “Oh, ah. _ Oh _.”

“Er -“

“You’re _ him, _aren’t you?”

Uncertain, Diaval glanced down at himself and then back at her. 

“Um, I’m _ a _ him, if that helps -“

“The raven demon. The shapeshifter. You came out of nowhere, dropping supplies into needy windows. The tales said that Diablo was a wicked creature, servant of a powerful witch, but … you’re not really wicked at all, are you?”

“Diaval,” he corrected quickly. “That’s my name. And I’m not a demon, either. Never even met one.”

“So, it _ was _ you.” The woman’s eyes positively sparkled at that, and she beamed, gesturing for him to follow her into the bathroom. “I’m Elspeth. I own the last tavern standing. Everything you could possibly need is right here in The Harpy’s Head: a bed, food, booze, and the dove that hangs around the beer garden is a looker, too. You are more than welcome here, young man. Now, get out of those clothes while I run your water.”

Elspeth closed the door behind them and then sat on the ledge of the tub in the corner of the small bathroom. Whatever she threw into the water as it began to run smelt as sweet as the potpourri decorating the pots on the windowsill, and it caused a sort of froth to appear on the water’s surface. Bubbles? He had never seen anything like that in his life. He might have moved in for a closer look if not for the fear keeping him immobile, and he hung there somewhat awkwardly as vulnerability took hold. 

Seeing that he hadn’t moved, Elspeth offered a small, sympathetic smile. 

“Don’t you worry. You’re not the first one I’ve plucked off the street to lend a helping hand. I’m not sure what it’s about when they try to hide their wounds. It’s clear to all the world that they’re hurting. No time for that nonsense - and besides, I’ve got thirty years on you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It was strange that not too long ago, he wouldn’t have cared about such a situation at all. He would have happily flung his clothes off and preened for the kindly old lady; his wilder instincts believed that she was trustworthy. However, it was suddenly very difficult to make that trust manifest, not only because of all that had occurred that day but for everything that had occurred for the entire duration of his time in Wickpon. How long had it even been?

Spotting the reflection of candlelight in an ornate mirror, he moved in to chance a look at himself for the first time in however long.

Diaval was startled by what he saw. He endured a surreal moment where his mind struggled to compute that it _ was _ his own reflection staring back at him. How strange it was what a relatively short amount of time could do to a person. A week? Two weeks? Over the course of it, he had become thinner and paler. His eyes were shadowed, gloomy as two rock pools at night. Blood smeared patches of his face and the stubble darkening his jaw. He probably more resembled a vagrant that had survived a brawl with a mountain lion, not a respected figure within Queen Aurora’s court. Even worse was the pale frost that glittered across his skin and in his tangled hair, a permanent reminder of the forsaken curse inflicted upon him.

And so, despite his scruples and that he still was not rid of the feeling of Wynne’s talons on him, the vanity of the raven emerged on top. Elspeth granted him privacy by turning away when he finally began to undress. It was a slow process. Somehow, everything hurt even more. His muscles ached and the clothes stuck to the burning scratches as they peeled away. Refusing for his own sanity to look down at himself once the clothes were on the floor, he slipped into the warm, bubbly water and made himself as small as possible at the foot of the tub. 

However, his hands lashed out and grabbed the side of the tub seconds later as every open wound burned underneath the water.

“Oh, my - ow! What torture is this?!”

Elspeth turned back to him, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s soap, dear.” Jug in hand, she dipped it into the water and paused, quietly taking him in. “You poor thing. You’re covered in -“

“I know. I was there when it happened,” Diaval joked, though his heart wasn’t in it. Thankfully, the woman didn’t ask questions about the state of him. She just sighed softly and tipped a jug of the warm water down over his shoulders. “This soap of yours _ really _ stings.”

“Do they teach you any manners in raven school?” Elspeth tutted. “Of course it stings. It’s especially made for wounds like these. Would you rather they got infected?”

Diaval regarded her dully, brow creasing. “Infected with what? Everythin’ is done with magic where I’m from.”

“We’re a bit short on that here, I’m afraid. An infection is a sickness caused by dirtied wounds. It’s the last thing you want, believe you me.”

Somewhere in the mire of his thoughts, Diaval did gradually come to terms with what was being done for him. Shame-faced, he brought his knees up to his chest and tried to focus on his plan, but he couldn’t, his thoughts jumbled and stifled beneath a near overwhelming presence of confusion and an unquenchable rage. 

“Forgive me for bein’ rude,” he managed, watching a layer of dirt and blood slough off him with the water. No matter how hot the water was, however, the frost encasing him did not melt, a permanent fixture of his person, and it left him unable to truly feel the heat of the bath as tremors of cold pierced through skin and bone. Made even angrier by that, he was mortified to find that ball of emotion reappearing in his throat and making every breath a struggle. When he spoke, it was a strained and broken sound, his thoughts unable to come together to explain himself. “It’s only that … Oh, I just … the Moors, my family. Feels like I might never see them again.”

Elspeth nodded and frowned. “That’s what she does. She’s been here for years, doing everything she can to make people afraid. It’s why many people left to seek new lives elsewhere, my own son included. Y’know, this kingdom was once the jewel of the north, full of life and laughter, and there were some nights the aurora would shine down upon us all. We haven’t seen the night sky in years thanks to her storms.”

Perking up a little, Diaval looked at the woman in surprise. 

“Aurora?”

“Yeah, have you never seen them? The mysterious moving lights. Radiant colours that swim through the dark sky. People would travel for weeks just to see them, though they were lucky if they did. They were said to be a blessing of Mori’ka - though that’s just fairytale, really.”

“You know about him?” He asked in further surprise.

“It’s just a legend passed down through time. Mori’ka was the patron spirit of this part of the world. There are still shrines to him built by early man out there in the woods, so people say. The time came that he was called away to other things, but he blessed the kingdom with good fortune and left the aurora behind as a gift to the world. Seems as though that good fortune ran out a long time ago,” Elspeth huffed with morbid amusement.

“‘Spose people don’t know what good fortune is until they’re hit with the bad.” 

“I think you’re right. Can you lean back a bit?” When he did so, Elspeth poured water down through his hair and massaged gently at his scalp, a strange sort of emotion manifesting in her brown eyes as she did so. She had seemed relatively cheerful up to that point. With a frown, she worked the water down through Diaval’s hair, pausing every now and again whenever she came across an errant, frost-coated feather. 

“It’s a curse,” Diaval muttered in explanation.

“I know. Seen it before.” That sad look to her eyes only worsened, and she quickly glanced away as she tilted another jug full of water down his head. “You said you have a family?”

“Ye-yes. Unconventional, maybe. A faerie, a human, and a raven. We raised a young princess ourselves, and now she’s Queen of the Moors … She’s having a little one of her own.”

“Ah, I beg your pardon, we’re a little behind the times, here. What’s the dear girl’s name again?”

Despite the tightness of his throat, the word emerged clear and full of affection. 

“Aurora.”

The name cut through the sorrow in Elspeth’s gaze, and it caused her to smile again, a light in its own right.

“Right, then. Let’s get to the reason why you’re here. Your plan is to go to the queen and hope to get her to convince everyone to leave, is that right? How soon are we talking, here?”

Thoughts slowly turning back to the plan he had formed in the forest, Diaval considered a moment. 

“Now. They need to be ready by morning. I’ve already got the fairies and the ravens on board to help; you’re all gonna need that bit of magic to get you out of the town, and I sent a message to Maleficent to request her help. She’ll bring the Dark Fae and then they’ll see you lot through the wilderness southwards to Ulstead. King John’s a kind man, he’ll welcome you all in with open arms while you recover, I swear to you.”

Met with silence, he looked up at the woman to find her staring at him with evident disbelief.

“Fairies?” She asked weakly. “There are fairies here?”

“Some. Only frost fairies are left, but they agreed to help.”

“And … Maleficent? The witch?”

“No,” Diaval managed, rubbing his eyes in poorly contained frustration. Apparently, the wrongful stories of Maleficent’s supposed evil had not yet been corrected this far away from the Moors and Ulstead. “She’s good. I don’t have time to explain what happened, but she’s a good faerie, unlike the Moon Witch. She’s my true Mistress. When innocent lives are in danger, she is truly formidable to those who would hurt them. She’s the only one that can stop Wynne.” Pausing, he tried to relax himself, gripping tightly onto his knees. “Maybe it all sounds crazy to you, but there is still magic in this world. Lots of it. I’m alive because of it. Maleficent and the Dark Fae use their power for good.”

Placing down the jug, Elspeth stood from the edge of the bath and retreated a small distance, arms folding across her apron. She was considering all that had been said, and doing an admirable job of it despite the strangeness of what had been put on the table, but it was true enough that Diaval himself was evidence enough of good magic compared to Wynne’s evil. It was only by the Moon Witch’s influence that frost spread across his skin and left a chill in his dark eyes and heart. 

“I believe you,” Elspeth said at last. “It’ll be a job convincing the others, but they trust me. They’ve had to. I’m the one with the beer.”

“Right, so I’ve just gotta convince the queen. Do I look any better?”

“Hm.” She quickly looked him over. “Hold on.” With that, she slipped out of the bathroom and reappeared moments later with a pile of clothes in her hands. They were dark, as suited Diaval, and upon closer inspection were certainly much finer than the garments Wynne had amassed. Finer, perhaps, than what normally might be found within a tavern, though he assumed it to be taken from the nearby castle. “Dry yourself off, then.”

Diaval did so, rising from the now murky water and wrapping himself in a towel. Despite the warmth of the bath and the depth of some of the cuts, they seemed to have stopped bleeding, and he briefly wondered if Elspeth’s ‘soap’ had contained a little magic of its own. He was careful to avoid the wounds as he dried off, though was devastated by what he saw upon relenting and peering down his aching form. They were everywhere. 

Elspeth was kind enough to dress them once she managed to convince him that bandages were not yet another tool of torture. Once she was done, she helped him climb into the soft clothes and even combed through his tangled hair until it looked something more respectable than a bird’s nest. Though there was little that could vanquish the pain of what had happened, he did feel somewhat better, feeling rather more - dare he say it - human, and definitely more himself. 

Taking Elspeth’s hand into his, he politely lowered down and kissed her knuckles in a show of gratitude. 

“Thank you for your kindness, Miss. I’ll be sure to see you again once I come back from the castle.”

The woman smirked at that. “You don’t need to go there, Diaval.”

Confused and a little bit impatient, he raised his eyebrows expectantly at her.

“That lonely old building isn’t the castle anymore. _ This _ is. The Harpy’s Head. No queen worth her salt would have just holed away up there while her people suffered. Thought I’d take something of a proactive approach.”

Diaval’s jaw fell open. The truth finally clicked. Under normal circumstances, he might have figured it out earlier, but having been focused elsewhere he was now laden with surprise - and then acceptance. In retrospect, it should have been fairly obvious.

“You’re the blimmin’ queen.”

“Queen Mera. Sorry, wasn’t about to go giving out my real name to a stranger, ‘specially the latest familiar of the resident harpy herself. I’ve been running this tavern for years and thought to myself, there was no point being up there when I could be down here pulling pints for the poor sods. There isn’t much else that I can do ‘cause that storm around the kingdom is impenetrable, but I can put my faith in you and that Maleficent.”

Struck with admiration, Diaval gaped at the unassuming woman, steadily piecing it all together. Mera continued:

“Something about you. I don’t know what. Maybe all the love in your voice when you were talking about your family and home. You’ll do anything to stop her spreading that storm, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Diaval said at once.

“Then what’re you going to do?”

“I’m …” he replied thickly, then took a short breath. “She stole an artefact that belongs to the Dark Fae called the Phoenix Emerald. It’s what is makin’ her so powerful. I’m the only one that can keep her busy while you lot are getting ready to go, and definitely the only one that can get close enough to take it off her neck.”

“Why not wait until Maleficent turns up before trying that?” Elspeth - _ Mera _offered sternly, her gaze falling concernedly down his form and up again. 

“‘Cause … the storm, I don’t know how powerful the emerald makes Wynne, but the storm might be too much. I don’t want any of the Dark Fae to get hurt, y’see. Especially her. The emerald is connected to her, so if … yeah, long story, but if I get it close enough to her then maybe she can use it.”

Mera sighed with a touch of exasperation. “This is all beyond me, Diaval. Fairies and magic emeralds!”

“I know. It’s all a bit beyond me, too, but it’s our only chance. It isn’t too late for your kingdom, Majesty. We can save it yet.”

“And you’re _ sure _ Maleficent is going to turn up?”

At that, Diaval nodded resolutely despite his nervousness. “I will always trust Maleficent to do what’s right.”

Gnawing on her lower lip, Mera took a step back and gave him another once over, clearly worried. She had every right to be, for he was asking much of her and it was fortunate that the queen seemed to have a good sense of character, otherwise he might have gotten nowhere. It was evident that she had lost near enough everything to the Moon Witch, including her own husband, and yet her strength was admirable. She had enough reason _ not _ to trust him. Her trust, then, was either born of courage or desperation. Or perhaps it was both.

“Don’t go back to her,” she said eventually, moving back to him to lightly place her hands on his shoulders. “You take that emerald from her and she’ll kill you. She isn’t powerless without it. Look at you. You’ve been shaking like a leaf this entire time.”

Diaval balled his hands, willing them to stop giving him away. The thought of leaving the tavern and going back to Wynne made him sick with fear, his heart palpitating with a sincere, glacial dread, and a cold sweat was already forming at his palms and forehead. There was nothing he wanted to do more than heed Mera’s words and stay in the town. Wynne had managed to cripple every ounce of courage that he might have once had.

“It’s just the cold,” he lied, managing a shaky sort of smile. “I could do with a weapon, though. Somethin’ made of iron. Faeries have a weakness to it.”

Mera reluctantly relented, closing her eyes and giving his shoulders a final pat. 

“All right. Whatever you need, dear, but do us a favour and come back in one piece. Is there anything else?”

“Er. Your crown, if you’ve got it. Had to tell her I was coming here to, well … how do I put this politely?”

“Say no more. I’m sure it’s in a dusty old cupboard in the cellar. Hang about and I’ll get what you need.”

Diaval was led out of the steamy bathroom and back to the landing. He waited there a few minutes as Mera disappeared down the stairs, and when she reappeared, she was dusting off an ornate silver crown studded with white jewels. He felt rather guilty taking it off her, frowning down at its heavy weight in his hands. 

“Are you sure?” He asked with uncertainty, turning it about a bit. The raven in him found a particular joy in the preciousness of it, the way it glittered prettily in the candlelight. 

“Oh, yes. Those stones are abundant in the mountains. We can always make another one if this one gets lost.” Mera held up an item clothed in silk and unwrapped it to show him. It was an old dagger, a bit rusted and worse for wear, but assuredly forged of iron. “Use this. Don’t let her get her claws in you again, do you hear me? Put it in your belt, there’s a lad. Put your cloak on.”

Once Diaval was swathed in his cloak with the dagger stowed at the back of his belt, he remained still a moment just to gather himself. Bumping into the queen herself and talking her into escape had been the easy part, and now everything else waited ahead. He would have to face Wynne again, lie to her, cut the emerald from her neck and then make for the edge of the storm in the hopes Maleficent would have reached the other side. She had strong, fast wings. She would be there, wouldn’t she? If he knew her, she would be there before dawn, but there was a lot about the plan relying on chance. 

He’d made it this far. 

“Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly. “Whatever your people choose to do, make sure they stay indoors. Have them gather every possible thing made of iron in their homes. The fairies and ravens will come for ‘em when it’s time. And if they don’t, well … I ‘spose that means something has gone wrong.”

“Righty ho,” Mera spouted, forcing her prior joviality, though her nervousness was evident. “All sort of exhilarating, isn’t it? Oh, one more thing …” Reaching into her skirt pocket, she produced a small, brown bottle and offered it to him. “Take a few swigs of this. Liquid courage, so they say.”

Blinking, Diaval slowly took the bottle and brought it to his nose to curiously smell it, then pulled a face at the piercing, malty scent. That didn’t seem right.

“_Are _ you a witch? Go on, you can tell me. How do you bottle courage, exactly?”

Surprised to be met with a deep sincere laughter from the woman, Diaval harrumphed quietly to himself and then took an indignant swig from the bottle - and immediately regretted it. Cringing fiercely at the burning taste, he forced it down and then thrust the bottle back into Mera’s hands. She was still laughing delightedly at him.

“Oh, no. You can keep your poison.”

“It’s gin. It’ll put a little fire in your belly.” Her laughter gradually died off. Taking his arm, she led him back down the stairs and out of the relative safety of The Harpy’s Head. “I’m not a witch, thank you. You’ve just spent too long in the Moors.”

The sight of snow sent Diaval’s stomach plummeting. The outside was a stark contrast to the cosy, warm atmosphere behind him. Faced with the dark and the cold again, he remembered just how he had arrived, and accepted with great reluctance that he would now be forced to retrace those steps for something suddenly as insignificant-seeming as a stone smaller than his own hand. 

Hopefully he could cut it from her before he was forced to retrace those steps even further. 

Staring into the void of white stretched out before him, he felt a gentle hand on his arm. 

“Thank you,” he said again without turning around. “Your kindness gives me more strength than the evil potion known as gin.”

“No, Diaval. I gave you a moment to recover. Understand that this strength of yours comes from you and you alone. Most men would have vied for their own escape, not an entire kingdom’s. I know now that the tales that painted you as the fiend, Diablo, are a true tragedy.”

Blanketed again in cold, Diaval took the first step forwards into his own snowy footprints. Despite the snow and the frost, the heat of rage unfurled and boiled within him, ready to protect him from whatever was to come.

“I don’t know,” he said, quiet as the snowflakes touching ground. “Maybe everyone needs a little devil in them, sometimes.”

* * *

It was only thanks to Maleficent’s power that the Wild Hunt were able to pass through the first storm. 

It was as severe as Udo had relayed. It was unlike anything she had seen in all her years. The storm ripped across the sky and the ocean, pelting her magical shields with millions of shards of ice. The extensive use of her power made it difficult to focus on where she was flying and she often found herself caught up in violent updrafts or blown down towards the cold, raging sea. 

Try as she might, she could not do anything to affect the storm itself. It infuriated her. The power of the Phoenix Emerald, her very own inheritance, was being used against her and the Hunt she lead. Wasn’t _ she _ supposed to be the powerful one? Wasn’t she the Guardian of the Moors? Why, then, was she powerless against the howling winds and flurrying snow?

Why had she let him fly right into it?

Maleficent’s rage was her guilt and her guilt was her rage. They twisted around each other viciously in her heart like wrangling serpents. She missed his presence so intensely that it was to suffer a fresh loss every time she turned and found a vacant space at her side. Though she was accepting of the fear that had caused her to send him away into the unknown, she could not accept what her fear had caused: a great injustice, for Diaval was alone and many of the fae still doubted his innocence in the matter. 

Whenever she saw darkness, she saw the cave where she had willingly invited him out of an urge born of jealousy. That pretty, young thing had flaunted her feathers right in front of him and Maleficent had been surprised by the spike of great annoyance that occurred upon witnessing it. What if he took a mate, she thought? Why would he spend time with her if he had somebody to delight and cherish? Allowing that dark jealousy to take hold had been her first mistake. 

Perhaps they were both naive in the matters that came after. His confession had stoked a fire long dormant within her. Without stopping to consider the emotional consequences of the suddenness of it all, Maleficent had indulged in a once secret longing. How sweetly he had kissed her at first, his fingers trembling reverently at her waist. And then they were wrapped around each other before she knew it, his solid warmth ensnared in her arms and she had wanted to never let him go, for what if he gave her true love’s kiss and then disappeared to love someone - _ something _else?

She had been ready, willing, to take their bond and make it something tangible. It was a fire she had not even felt with Stefan. Those fears, however, had already taken hold, and the moment she felt hands in her wings, the very things taken from her in a moment of vulnerability, she sought to banish it all away so that she might never be hurt that way again. If she hurt him before he hurt her, then she would be safe from the awful feelings and memories that flooded her thoughts in an intense moment of terror. 

She felt no shame for those feelings. What agonised her was that she had taken that pain and used it to hurt somebody who meant her no wrong. Somebody who loved her. One who had confided a fear in her departure, in being alone, and she had made that a cruel reality. 

And now, no storm would stop her from making things right. 

Though the storm was tumultuous, the Dark Fae were determined. They had formed the legendary Wild Hunt in wake of realising what great power the Moon Witch held with the emerald in her possession. Led by Maleficent, Borra, Udo, and Shrike, fae of all ilk took flight and followed them into the sky, hungry for vengeance. The Tundra Fae were able to help in deflecting some of the worst of the snow and ice, though they too were near enough powerless in the ferocity of the storms rampaging across the sea. 

The worst storm, however, was yet to come. 

She saw it from miles away, and the sight of it took the breath right out of her lungs. It was not moving across the sea like the others. It was on land, staying entirely in one impossibly massive spot, a spire of churning white that reached up to the heavens and shielded the entirety of Wickpon from trespass. The storm stretched for miles and miles, making even the Wild Hunt feel tiny by comparison. 

Unable to land comfortably close by thanks to the bracing winds, Maleficent dropped herself down a small distance away and then strode up to the vast, terrifying wall of snow and ice and fog. The wind blew violently at her wings, threatening to carry her off entirely, but she pressed on, digging her feet into the snow and keeping her stance low. It took all of her strength to remain still upon reaching the edge of the storm, and she reached for her power, a hand extending …

A shard of ice cut through her hand. Blood immediately spurted down her wrist, and then a powerful gale took her wings and blew her back into the gathering of fae behind.

Stunned, Maleficent swiftly healed the vicious wound and rose to her feet

“She’s cut it off from the world!” Udo shouted past the great winds. “This is what she always wanted. Absolute power! The storm may be impenetrable!”

Bearing her fangs, Maleficent tried again. She raised her hands and pointed her talons towards their barrier, willing it to depart back into the sky. Such a thing should not have been beyond her power. 

And yet, it was. 

Enraged, the faerie sent a green bolt of magic hurtling into the din and watched as it harmlessly disappeared among the white. 

The Hunt lingered there for hours.

Maleficent was relentless. She tried everything. She tried tearing into the storm, screaming with frustration every time it failed. She tried flying in from above and going in from below, but she was cast out by the wind. Those hours later, she was exhausted, wings aching and magic barely emerging, and so she paced like a caged lion, desperately willing an idea or an opening to make itself known. By then, night had fallen.

She heard somebody trudging up behind her. Turning abruptly, she found Borra wearing an infuriatingly calm expression. Strange, the back of her mind acknowledged. He was not unlike her in his temperament, and yet he beheld her with a forbearance that she envied him in that moment.

“What?” She snapped, twisting back to resume pacing. “I’ll think of something, Borra. Go and join the others.”

“Hm,” Borra responded, and when she looked at him again, he actually dared to smile. “I know you will, Maleficent. What’s this but another castle to tear down? You know, I’ve seen you do _ that _ before, only now it’s for a different kind of treasure. Right?”

“I did that to save my daughter. I care no more for the Phoenix Emerald than a mere stone on the ground. All I want is to get it out of her wretched hands and back where it belongs.”

The Desert Faerie cleared his throat with a touch of amusement. “Sorry, shall I rephrase that? It’s for a different kind of love, then. I can’t imagine you would be quite as desperate to retrieve a mere stone.”

Unsure what he was trying to say, Maleficent rounded on him and glared. 

“Do you mean to help me or tease me, Borra? And don’t you dare bring him up, not after what you have done to besmirch his name out of petulant jealousy.”

“All right,” the other said, raising his hands in a show of acceptance. “I know. What I did was wrong, but that was before Udo told us who was really responsible. _ I _ wanted to be the one to find the emerald and bring it to you, I admit. Thought that maybe if I proved myself, I would come out on top. Looks like he’s beaten me to it.”

“He did that a long time ago. Diaval also understands, which may be shocking to you considering that he is a raven, that I am not a prize to be won. I resent the games that you have played in this time of hardship.”

Borra’s smile fell, though he nodded. “I know. I … _ apologise _ for it. I wanted to make amends and to also make a suggestion, if you would hear me, Maleficent.”

She took a deep breath in, glowering and measuring the man’s sincerity. Truth be told, she was grateful for his apology.

“I will hear you.”

Borra approached and turned to face the storm, proudly facing it dead on. 

“Connall always said that any divide, no matter how big, can be crossed with time and effort. I was never inclined to agree until I saw it for myself. Now we face a new kind of storm.” He nodded towards the towering wall of wind and cloud. “But there’s something else. The Phoenix Emerald, born of the most permanent divide. Created from the tears of the Phoenix as she faced a life without the one she loved. You know that pain, you’ve known it more than once. It’s what defines your very lineage. What would Connall say?” With a fresh grin, Borra folded his arms and sighed. “Probably something like, ‘take that pain and use it for good’. Destroy that divide between you and what you love. Embrace the pain and maybe the emerald will make itself known to you, ‘cause they’re really just one and the same.”

Surprised, Maleficent remained silent. Her rage began to slowly ebb in favour of acceptance. Borra’s truth was as beautiful as it was painful, and she found herself understanding what it was that she had to do.

Any storm could be crossed. Sometimes, it just took a little extra thought. Sometimes it took love and patience and communication. Sometimes it took tenacity and endurance. No matter what, it could be done, and Maleficent had found her way forwards. The first step, of course, was the most important.

The faerie closed her eyes and hunted within the mire.


	8. Devil

The ruined house emerged within the snow. 

Diaval stood there beside the river and stared at it. The curse within him had ebbed somewhat given that he was close to Wynne again, but his hands shivered around the crown that he held, nonetheless. Some distance behind him, the large horse he had taken from a stable on the way whinnied softly in wait.

Sharp lurches in his belly emptied his mind of thought as he resumed moving forwards. The foray into Wickpon had given him the time that he needed to consider what Wynne had done, though he still did not understand it: he did not understand why or how it had happened, he did not really understand yet what it meant, and he suffered the notion that by betraying him, his body had forced him to betray Maleficent, too. Though Diaval had never felt more used or vulnerable in all his years, the thought of losing his Mistress once and for all over this and over all the mistakes that he had made truly ruined him. 

What even was he without her?

The wolves were silent as he nervously passed them. The five of them sat and watched him with interest, their icy blue eyes glowing like cold fire and the blood of their latest hunt staining their maws. Diaval was forced to hope that the loss of the emerald would put an end to Wynne’s control over the beasts … otherwise they were an obstacle sure to rip him apart the moment he escaped. Given the blank lifelessness to their feral stares, they were ready to be filled with the Moon Witch’s commands.

It was like moving within a silent dream. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears. He wasn’t ready to go back, he wasn’t ready to see her or her talons or her teeth, but there was no other option. It was this or watch an entire kingdom perish. 

It was this or break a promise to Aurora.

His soul felt ready to vacate his body the moment he stepped foot inside the dilapidated doorway. A crown made of weaker stuff might have bent in his grip for how tightly he held it, and when his fingers shifted, they left imprints of frost on the silver metal. 

“You did it,” Wynne breathed. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she rose like a pale ghost from the nest and stared with wild hunger at the crown. The faerie shot forwards and snatched it from him with a mad giggle, spinning playfully about with it in her talons. “You did it! You did it! Poor, poor Mera. First she loses the king, and now she is the first queen to fall!” Pausing, she raised the crown and smiled at it admiringly. It would not fit past the horns on her head but she didn’t seem to mind, instead dropping it pride of place on the table. She turned back to Diaval and sighed with relief. “The elder of my clan foresaw that I was destined for greatness if I took the right path. And now, finally, it begins! I’m a _ queen_.” 

With another tinkling laugh, she did a little dance of wicked joy, and then her gaze set upon Diaval. Her smile turning coy, she sauntered to him and he was forced to resist a fierce flinch at her proximity. Gritting his teeth, he endured the woman batting her eyelashes and reaching up to wrap her arms around her neck, though the true challenge came when she pulled him down to press her cold, dry lips to his.

Diaval tried to recoil. He couldn’t help it, nauseated and fearful, but the attempt to fight her off went ignored. Wynne simply did not let him go, her hold around his neck tightening to keep him held firmly where he was. It felt like forever until her grip loosened enough that he could slip from it, his lower lip stinging from an excitable bite she had inflicted. 

Wynne just giggled and leaned into him, her hands running leisurely down his chest. 

“Did you steal these clothes from the palace? They suit you,” she complimented wryly, apparently oblivious to Diaval’s rising distaste. “You look like a prince. A prince come to woo his dear faerie queen, but maybe the queen doesn’t want a prince. Maybe she longs for the true nature of his heart.”

Her talons cut through the first button of his tunic, too close to his skin for his comfort. Diaval’s hands clenched and he closed his eyes. Though he wanted nothing more than to push her away, he had to wait until her guard was down enough to take her by surprise. Again, she did not take notice of his apparent discomfort, beginning to slowly unbutton him from the neck down.

“Not man,” she continued. Pausing half-way down, she ran the tip of a talon over the scar-like shape of a raven’s foot on his chest. “Beast of the forest. It’s what makes you better than any of them. You were meant for me. Made for me. And now we’re mated, we have been made one by the Moon’s guidance.” She drawled those awful words with sickening arrogance, pulling him back until they were flush with the table. With a petulant grin did she seat herself upon it and wrap her legs around his waist, trapping him there. “Good boy deserves a good treat.”

It was nearly too much. Willing himself to unfreeze, Diaval gingerly brought an arm around her and placed his hand between her wings, holding her fast against him. Wynne crooned at that, wriggling against him with intrigue and impatience.

“Yes, Mistress,” he murmured, meeting her eyes. Carefully holding her gaze, he drew in a bit and kept his lips mere inches from her own, ensnaring her in a net of her own desire and greed in his attempts to charm her, and there was a moment where he felt rotten in doing so despite all that Wynne had done. He simply could not take advantage of her in turn. 

It was time. Time to do the stupidest thing that he had ever done in his life. 

“My queen is so powerful,” he said with luxurious silkiness, keeping her under his spell while his free hand disappeared behind his back. “How fortunate I am to be under your thrall. My one regret, truly …” Diaval’s hand moved from her back to her neck, gently cupping it, “... is that you chose to never use that power for good.”

His finger hooked under the leather necklaces. Yanking the iron dagger from behind his back, he sliced through them with lightning speed and then yanked the Phoenix Emerald away from her chest. 

It took the witch a good moment to retrieve herself from the trance she had been under, staring up at him in shock, and then at the green stone in his hand. Diaval had already wrenched himself out of the grip of her legs. 

Her shrill scream cut through the silence of the woods.

Diaval made for the crumbling doorway, shoving the emerald into his tunic. He almost made it out, but Wynne was stronger and faster than he was - with a single beat of her wings, she was landing on him and sending them both slamming to the ground, and she quickly sat across the small of his back with her palm pushing threateningly against the back of his neck. 

She could have killed him like that. Easily. In sudden panic, Diaval pushed himself up on his arms and used all his strength to roll sideways and throw her off, scrambling to his feet. Panting, he held the iron dagger aloft and stayed poised with it while Wynne circled him, her eyes fixed on the blade. 

“Clever thing,” she commended in a hiss, inserting herself between Diaval and the door, her great, snowy wings spread. She laughed, then, though there was no true humour in it, for tears were rapidly building in her eyes in wake of his betrayal. “I should have known. The clever, handsome little raven, the fussy boy, it was all too good to be true! I thought that you might have been starting to like me back. I thought …” Wynne snivelled violently, tears flooding down over her cheeks. “I thought I was beautiful enough for something like you.”

“You _ are _beautiful!” Diaval insisted, infuriated. “But you hurt people! Countless of ‘em have died because of you! And you can’t just force people to love you, that isn’t how it works! Love is earned. Wynne.” Lowering his voice into something more gentle, he continued, “I haven’t seen you leave this house. You’re terrified. You know what you’ve done is wrong. There is still time to turn things around. Any good that’s left inside you - that’s what people want. That’s what they need.”

The witch’s wings slowly lowered. The way she beheld him was almost child-like in that moment, her wet eyes wide, and it seemed that there was a chance she might have actually been listening. Maybe he had touched that one remnant of good within her. Maybe she had acknowledged the depth of her own self-contempt and the way it had transformed her, twisted her into a creature of evil, when it had never had to be that way at all. Maybe she understood. 

She did the unthinkable. 

The edges of her form swam with white magic, and then she disappeared into a glittering mist. The person that emerged from it was not her. The person was taller, with dark hair and dark wings and cool, red lips, immediately recognisable. Diaval’s heart leapt up into his throat and an instant sorrow gripped him from within; he had not seen Maleficent since that moment in the cave, and to see her countenance again took him away from the peril he was in, for a powerful love swarmed his thoughts entirely and all he wanted to do was say _ sorry, I’m sorry. _

Wynne, in the shape of Maleficent, took advantage of his moment of distraction to lurch forwards and seize him by the neck. With an expression of rage that he knew all too well, she picked him up and threw him so hard into the table that it snapped under his weight. Marching forth, she picked him up again and slammed him against the stone wall, holding him fast.

“Would you love me like this?” She said in Maleficent’s voice, as though stolen fresh from his memories. The witch laughed softly and pressed herself up against him, dropping a hand down to rake her talons possessively up the length of his thigh. “Would you worship me? Would you do everything I say?”

Agonised, Diaval barely felt the claws cutting into his skin. Gods, but she looked and sounded exactly like Maleficent and she had manipulated him with terrifying ease with the illusion. His longing pounded within him like a deep ache. He was weak with love, because he would always worship Maleficent, he would always do the things she asked him, and he knew that she would never truly expect it of him. Not like Wynne, who had forced him into things he had not wanted, who had never listened, even when he had been begging her to stop. 

Maleficent never would have made him feel that small.

“Give me the emerald, darling,” Wynne whispered, pulling her hand slowly back up his waist and towards the opening of his tunic. “I’ll forgive you, make you mine. I’ll give you the things that all men dream of.”

The words did not serve to seduce or entice him. He could still feel every scratch and bruise on his body that she had inflicted, and he could not - _ would not _ \- endure sating her twisted hunt for power like that again.

Grabbing her wrist before she could retrieve the emerald, he used his greater height to his advantage and used her arm to swap their positions and spin her back against the wall. Wynne thudded against it hard enough that she was momentarily dazed, and it killed him to see such an expression of betrayal on Maleficent’s face. 

And it killed him even more to hurt her.

The dagger plunged deep into Wynne’s wing, burying into both flesh and stone to keep her pinned against it. Blood and smoke immediately spurted out of the wound and the witch screamed at the top of her lungs. She writhed in agony, grabbing desperately at him, but Diaval was already pulling away, his features crumpling. 

“You’re not my Mistress,” he said quietly, watching as Wynne’s magic began to fail her in her agony. Her form was shifting between her own and Maleficent’s as she screamed. Smelling burning flesh, Diaval forced himself away and out of the house, entering into an immediate sprint. 

He could hear her shrieking his name behind him. The dagger would likely not hold her down for long - he had to move quickly. Outside, the wolves were moving in a pack formation, looking somewhat lost and confused as they watched him go, and they thankfully made no attempt to attack him. The icy blue of their eyes was gone to be replaced with a more natural amber. The emerald, then, was what had been used to keep them enslaved. Why wasn’t the curse within his own heart waning?

There was no time to think about it yet. Running as fast as he could through the snow, he made a growling sound at the wolves when they curiously ventured closer. He recognised easily the one that had nearly killed him the day he had flown into the kingdom, but there was nothing savage about it. Not now. Though he had an innate fear of wolves and dogs and anything that hunted birds for fun, he recognised that it had not been the beast’s decision to hurt him in that instance.

The more souls he had on side, the better. 

Diaval quickly dropped down onto all fours and made himself look as big as possible, baring his teeth and growling, holding the golden gaze of the alpha wolf of the pack. While there was no time to integrate himself among them, he could assert dominance and communicate in the ways he knew how, for all animals had a language of their own, and through every transformation he was learning how to speak them. 

The wolf approached and licked him on the mouth in response. It was a playful gesture, and a show of submission. Diaval suspected that they had not really been any sort of threat all along. 

Reluctantly touching at the creature’s head, he then stood up and carried on running. The wolves followed him, startling the mare that he had left by the river, but he calmed her with a long caress of her muscular neck and then swung himself up onto her back. Before she could focus too much on the wolves, he pulled her into action and set them off into an immediate gallop away from the house and towards the town.

The wind was blisteringly cold as they ran. However, the snow did not fall quite as heavily, and the chill to the air was not quite what it was. The curse upon Wickpon was slowly dissipating so long as the emerald stayed out of Wynne’s grasp. 

The mare’s stride was strong. Behind them, the wolf pack hollered with excitement and followed on behind, revelling in newfound freedom. And then - the caws of a familiar unkindness sounded from the trees of the woods as the ravens, too, sprung into action, flocking into the sky and flying on ahead towards the town. They were followed by the frost fairies, a glittering cloud of them rising up from the darkness of the woods and into the stormy night sky. Diaval watched them go, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.

Maybe the plan was going to work, after all.

The queen of the frost fairies fluttered to his side and saluted at him with her tiny little hand, beaming, then disappeared to join her people. The ravens and the fairies flew on ahead as the town appeared on the bleak, pale horizon. Desperate, Diaval looked away from them and into the storm, hoping to see some sort of opening, some sort of sign that Maleficent and the Dark Fae had managed to reach Wickpon in time. 

Would they even be able to breach the storm? Though the harsh weather was dying, it was slow. The great tempest that caged the kingdom still raged, and Wynne was still a threat to the people, even without the emerald. He had to hold her off to give the people time to get ready and arm themselves if necessary, and he had to give the Dark Fae time to get through.

While the mare galloped on, Diaval fearfully glanced over his shoulder. There was nobody there. Worries temporarily curbed, he turned back and began to consider just how he might distract the Moon Witch if she were to -

Agony exploded in his back. 

His vision went white. Before he could figure out what had happened, something crashed into his side and sent him flying from the great height of the horse. His stomach lurched and then - _ crack! _He crumpled on the hard surface of the frozen river.

Diaval skidded across it a small way, unable to stop himself or even move, consciousness swimming and fading and then slowly, slowly reemerging. There was a moment where he forgot where he even was. What had happened? All he knew was the white of the world and the ringing in his ears, and … the taste of blood on his tongue, the crippling agony of his body following its terrible fall. 

Diaval gasped for air and managed to roll onto his side from his front. Somewhere beyond, he could hear a horse braying loudly in panic, he could hear wolves snarling. Barely holding on to himself, he opened his eyes and saw the terrible silhouette of the Moon Witch stood watching him from the river’s edge. 

Sick with terror, he tried in vain to drag himself away, but his hands were wet with water and blood. With a cry of pain, he reached behind him and felt something embedded in his back, something cold and slippery that had pierced through his ribs and straight through his chest.

Ice. Realisation flooded him, then, followed by a bitter acceptance.

He had failed. 

“Run,” the man rasped, hoping dearly that the animals would hear him, but when his vision cleared enough for him to see again, he saw six statues of ice there in the snow. The mare was reared up on her hind legs, the wolves were cowering or making threatening advances, their last moments frozen in ice and time by the cruelty of one faerie. Diaval made a sound of grief, the pain of his guilt and sorrow surpassing even that of his wounds. 

In the distance, a single raven sang its song of death.

Wynne’s eyes were like two glowing blue flames in the dimness of night. She spread her wings and flew down onto the frozen river. One of the wings was drenched with blood, but she was still able to fly with it; Diaval would not have been able to sever it from her body, even if the opportunity had presented itself. He simply did not have the capability to do such a thing. Choking on misery, he watched as she approached and ceased his feeble attempts to escape, for it was now too late for that. 

“You filthy raven,” Wynne hissed, a wicked venom to her voice. “You pledged yourself to me and you betrayed me. You’re _ nothing. _Just a dirty, common bird. I was foolish to think you might have been something more.” She knelt down beside him and stroked a shaking hand through his bloodied hair. Tears spilled from her eyes and froze on her cheeks as she looked at him. “Your name in the Old Language means ‘devil’. Did you know that? I thought that I had finally met someone like me, someone fated to take control of others. But you betrayed me and you betrayed your own destiny, Diaval. You really were just a simple bird all along.” 

Aware that Wynne was distracted, Diaval rolled back onto his front to protect the emerald stuffed in his tunic. Through the ice beneath him, he could see a current of water flowing, and the idea occurred that he had one last ace up his sleeve, if only he had the time to move.

Wynne grabbed the icy spear buried in his back and twisted it.

He screamed. The spear was pushed deeper, twisting within him, and Wynne was laughing with unrestrained madness, but she was also sobbing. Her laughter became a cry of fury when she wrenched the spear out of him completely.

“The curse I put on you was different to the others,” she said, forcing Diaval onto his back so that she could sit astride his stomach. Pointing the sharp end of the weapon at his throat, she bared her sharp teeth in an agonised grin. “If I can’t have you, then nobody can. There is no way to break the curse. Even if you somehow survive this, the cold in your heart will still claim you for all the times you have gone against your pledge, for all the distance you put between us. You’ve failed, you miserable _ animal_. You’re going to die, and for what? Human runts and a faerie too powerful to love the likes of you?”

In a fog of pain, Diaval relied on his instincts. When Wynne reached for the inside of his tunic, he struck her arm away, acknowledging in his tumultuous but fading thoughts that the emerald had to be protected at all costs. It was the only way to stop the witch’s mad crusade of Winter across the world. It was the only way to protect Aurora and her little one from the cold. 

_ Thonk. _

Wynne froze. Her eyes drooped, and then she keeled over sideways, dropping the ice spear.

From behind her, the stocky form of Queen Mera emerged armed with nothing but a rolling pin.

Diaval thought he was dreaming. Blearily focusing on the queen, he took her in with great confusion, unable to really focus or entirely understand why she was there. Had she really come all that way just to help him? Whatever the case, she had appeared just at the right moment, giving him a little more time.

Wynne stirred weakly beside him. Taking the bloodied spear in his hand, Diaval used it to force himself into a seated position, and the entire world span around him.

“Diaval,” Mera breathed, her eyes morose as she beheld him. The queen knelt down and put her hands on his shoulders to help keep him upright. “I could hardly believe it when I saw the ravens and fairies flying past! You were right. There _ is _ still magic in this world.” The woman had tears in her eyes. With a shuddering gasp, she leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, and then gently held him close, her palm warm on his cheek. “You brave soul. You good soul. This isn’t right, this isn’t -“

“Aurora,” Diaval mumbled. He wheezed painfully, eyes fluttering shut, but he moved himself from the queen’s hold and used the spear to push himself up onto his feet. It was only by her hand that he did not fall over. Leaning into her, he shook with pain and sorrow and rage, fingers tight around the weapon. “Meet Queen Aurora. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. I really tried. Please.”

“Yes,” Mera said, tearfully squeezing his arm. “I will, dear. I will.”

“And Maleficent … tell her.” A sob shook his body, then, unable to be contained. His head drooped and hot tears fell into the ice by his feet. “I love them. M-more than anything.”

“I’ll tell them, Diaval.”

Queen Mera took a shaky breath, moving a hand beneath his chin to make him look at her. She straightened up his clothes and brushed his hair out of his eyes, smiling so softly that it was almost as though nothing had happened at all. It comforted him to see it. A smile meant that hope was not yet lost. Wickpon still stood so long as its queen did, no matter how many layers of snow it was buried under. 

“You need to go,” he murmured breathlessly. “The faeries … they’ll be here. They will. I’ll keep the witch busy. Go and get your people out of here.”

Her smile faded. Moving a hand over his heart, she held it there and then bowed her head before looking up at him again. 

“Wickpon thanks you, Diaval of the Moors. May the sun warm your wings again.”

Wynne stirred a second time. With one last look at Diaval, the queen hurried back to the bank of the river and disappeared into the woods, her trusty rolling pin in tow. And so the future of her kingdom survived with her. The raven felt a moment of true warmth upon seeing her go, one that did, for a second or two, seem to best the curse of cold in his heart. 

He turned and staggered in the opposite direction. It took several minutes for him to make his way to the middle of the river where the ice was weakest. When it began to creak beneath his feet, he stopped and then began to weakly hit at it with the pointed end of the spear, keeping himself turned towards the witch’s prone form. 

When she recovered from the blow, she raised her horned head, dazed but alert. The glowing pin-pricks of her eyes fixed on him. The faerie slowly rose to her feet, and she followed the trail of blood that he had left behind, a wild mania to her face.

“Give up!” She howled at him, her desperation evident. “Just give it up to me! Give me the emerald!”

Diaval felt strangely calm when he shook his head. The spear pierced strategically into the ice a few more times, and he felt it bow beneath his feet. There was a way he could keep Wynne weak and occupied: frantically hunting for the emerald in her selfish, power-hungry need to hurt innocent kingdoms. As for himself … it was rather too late to even think about running away. The vicious wound to his chest was a fatal blow that would see him dead within minutes. He accepted it because there was nothing else that he could do.

Those few minutes were precious. 

“If you want the emerald, you’ll have to come ‘n get it,” he informed her, even rolling his eyes for dramatic effect. “Did you really think I was just gonna give it to you, just like that? What kind of raven just gives up his treasure?” Reaching in to his tunic, he pulled the stone out and held it there in his hand, throwing the spear down. 

The faerie scrambled towards him. It was almost too easy, really. Diaval allowed himself a second of pride, watching as she took to the air.

When she crashed into him and reached for the emerald, he wrapped his arms around her and threw himself down onto the broken ice. The river gave away, opening its dark, hungry maw and swallowing them into the bottomless void below. 

The cold white of the world disappeared. The snow and the ice had to have been warm in comparison to what met them, then.

The water was so unbelievably cold that the both of them were stunned into motionlessness. Wynne was fortunate enough to be closer to the surface, and her native control over the freezing elements allowed her to cling on to the glowing shelf of ice over their heads, but that was the last thing Diaval was aware of. He was pulled into the current, into the darkness, the Phoenix Emerald held fast in his frozen fingers. 

It was instinct for him to hold his breath for as long as he could, but the water filled the cavity of his lung through the wound. It was a strangely peaceful feeling, painful at first but then entering him into a sort of serene state. He opened his eyes and saw the flat surface of the ice above glowing like the Moon, seemingly miles and miles away. It shone with iridescence and he was reminded of Aurora, his dear fledgeling, his queen, flowers in her hair and a joyful lightness to her step. 

The green reminded him of Maleficent. He did not know where the light was coming from - only that a dark shape had moved to hover above him in the water, a being of no real form but of solid mass regardless. Another vision, perhaps. The creature seemed to extend a bony, clawed hand, a vision of Death itself welcoming a new soul into the unknown. 

The green light flared. Diaval remained unaware that it was coming from the Phoenix Emerald in his hand. The green-gold power within it glowed like a star in the deepest voids of the night sky, its light reaching out to touch all four corners of the cosmos. Though Diaval could no longer see the light, he could undoubtedly feel it. Warm, strong, and more beautiful than anything in the entire world. 

It felt like home.

* * *

Outside of the storm, Maleficent’s eyes opened. 

A presence had made itself known. A longing and grief that seemed to span the ages collected deep within her heart, both hers and _ not _ hers all at once. Answers to questions she had not even thought about asking became known, and answers she had desperately needed flooded to her like an incoming tide, too. In searching and accepting a pain that she feared so greatly, she had found something there within the storm, a glow of power that nobody else could yet see. It was a silent, churning orb that touched her from the outside and from within.

A bridge.

The emerald, created from tears of despair, was calling, and it reached a part of her tucked away from the sights of most. It called past the faerie and to the blood of the Phoenix.

Maleficent transformed. Beheld in reverence by her kin, she was surrounded by the golden fire that was her inheritance, the shadows that were her past, and she grew into her truest shape in response to the emerald’s beckoning. Her great, dark wings seemed to cover the sky like a blanket, and her eyes were like the emerald itself, filled with the very same need, a desperation. She opened her beak, and the Phoenix’s song was not one of death, but of life. _ Hope_.

Magical fire poured from her mouth. She held her wings spread to balance herself and kept the fire flowing, attacking the great wall of storm surrounding the kingdom. The hot, golden fire washed over it like water, cutting through it like years of currents could cut through stone, and while she burned at the curse from the outside, she allowed herself to cross that mental bridge to the stone.

What she found there was an assault of memories, cruel words, pain that she would not wish on anyone. She saw every second of what the stone itself had seen since being stolen. It showed her all the snow and the death and the _ hurt_. And then it showed her Diaval and every awful, heartless thing that the Moon Witch had done to control him, a pledge of service, claws and teeth, a rampant theft of virtue. It showed her where he floated beneath a sheet of ice, the quiet rage within him that had gone unheeded.

So she met it with her own.

Screaming in response to all she had seen, the power of her fire only built, and she held onto that bridge between her and the darkness of a frozen river. She gripped it as though it might break at any moment. She wouldn’t get to him on time, he was going to die there. He was going to die after having suffered unjustly at the hands of a true evil. Filled with that volcanic rage, Maleficent did the only thing that she could do: she sent a wave of her power across that bridge and to that precious stone held protectively in Diaval’s hand.

She willed him to open his eyes and fight.

_ Diaval. _

_ Into a dragon. _

* * *

In the town, frost fairies were creating ice carriages in the streets, pretty and elaborate things. The ravens, in turn, were helping the people carry their belongings into the carriages, and while the humans were wholly confused by the entire affair, they were also grateful for the assistance. Of course, nobody had shown up to help them before, not until now. 

Even the lonely lords and ladies of the castle pitched in, carrying bags of rations and clothes onto the magical carriages. The ravens took particular interest in them, given the pretty silver that they wore, and some of them were fortunate enough to be rewarded for their help, whether with food or pearl beads or the odd earring or two. Frost fairies touched curiously at the extravagant clothes the nobility wore, and they were allowed to do so despite the chill that they gave off.

Children wrapped in blankets ran about the streets, giggling as they were chased by raven and fairy alike. Their mothers were quick to gather them up again and wait nervously by their homes for news - Queen Mera had since disappeared into the wilds for a mysterious cause, and she had simply told them to wait for something to happen. 

So, they waited, sipping at flagons of mulberry gin to help keep them warm.

A sound like thunder emerged from the direction of the river. 

Everyone turned. Terrified, they held onto each other when the sound rolled through the earth again, this time shaking the very buildings. 

The people closest to the river that flowed by the town saw a mysterious, golden light manifesting from underneath the ice, and at first it appeared something like fire burning on its surface. That thunderous sound shook the town again, thudding deafeningly beneath the earth and knocking snow off rooftops. The strange, fire-like glow spreading above the river grew in size, and it was then that they realised it was not fire at all, but some sort of magic. 

What they did not expect was to see an enormous, black wyvern pierce through the frozen river.

There was little time to really ponder just how the creature had ended up beneath the ice, and certainly no time to consider the wondrous nature of such a creature ending up there in their unassuming kingdom. Most of the townsfolk stood firm, however. They had seen worse things than dragons, and endured too many losses to even count. The sight did not frighten them, even if the beast could have been another servant of the Moon Witch, there to decimate the town once and for all. 

Mothers and fathers held their children close. Farmers kept pitchforks and torches held closely to their chests. They all watched the great beast pull itself from the ice, its dark scales and feathers shining in the light of the snow.

As it did so, Queen Mera emerged from between the houses and ran as quickly as her legs could carry her up to the central street, where loyal patrons were stood ready to defend The Harpy’s Head with an assortment of swords and pans. Stopping there, she bowed over and tried to catch her breath, eyes wide as the dragon cast its enormous shadow over Wickpon and took to the air with tattered wings. 

She saw the feathers, the vague shape of a raven’s foot on the beast’s chest as it flew clumsily over the town. It crashed into chimneys as it tried to get a true footing in the air, and it left stains of dark, steaming blood in the snow, melting some of the great dunes that buried rows and rows of houses. 

“It’s Diaval,” she exclaimed in surprise, and the others looked at her rather cluelessly. “The raven that was dropping supplies into our windows! He’s a shapeshifter! Don’t you go swinging those pans around him, he’s doing us a favour!”

The patrons looked at her as though she was mad, but then again, they trusted their queen and her often eccentric ways. Lowering their weapons, they darted off to join their families by the ice carriages, watching in stoic silence as the creature clambered noisily about the town. 

Water and blood poured from between Diaval’s teeth. He coughed, and blood bubbled at the gaping wound in his back. To have been transformed came as an enormous surprise when he had been convinced that he was going to drown, and he struggled to come to terms with sudden change, the dragon’s rage burning in his chest. Of all the shapes he had ever worn, that of a dragon was surely his favourite; it was powerful, it could fly, it could breathe fire, but such power came at a cost. The beasts were quick to anger, and full of pride and vanity, even more so than a raven. The dragon simply would not accept what had been done to it. It would not allow itself to fall without a fight.

A guttural roar tearing from him, Diaval leapt from the spire of the castle that he had perched on and caught the wind in his wings. The Phoenix Emerald glowed from between his claws, safely contained there as he soared swiftly across the town, his burning eyes searching the snow. He couldn’t see any faeries, but Maleficent must have been the one to transform him! If Wynne could have transformed him without the emerald, wouldn’t she have done it while he made his escape?

There, by the river! A tall, statuesque form, dark and beautiful, the curve of her horns all too familiar. His emotions were explosive in this form, and the love he felt upon seeing her might have destroyed him were he not so used to it.

She extended her hands towards him, gently beckoning. Her dark wings were touched with frost, much as his own were. Her hair fluttered in the wind, but it was wet with frozen water. And her eyes … something about them was not quite right. His sharp vision meant that he could see them despite their distance, and at once, he understood. Diaval could not be fooled by illusion, not when it concerned Maleficent. She shone brighter than the very stars to him, and just like the stars, he knew the map of her well enough that he could tell if something was amiss. 

Diaval flew down and roared, riding a gust of wind that brought a burning blizzard in its wake. The ire in his blood screamed with delight as soon as he caught the Moon Witch in his claws. _ Tear her apart, rip off her wings, break her, burn her! Make her pay! _

He might have almost given in to the dragon’s dark instincts; his anger and shame were enough so that he might have actually hurt her, but within the storm, something caught his eye. Where the kingdom ended in a wall of gales that allowed no passage, he could see a glowing, golden light blooming on the other side of the river, past the woods and past the farms. His heart palpitated in a mixture of excitement and a growing weakness. 

It was her. It was _ her. _Turning in the sky, he headed in the direction of the manifestation of Maleficent’s power. He passed the woods and the fields, keeping a shrieking Wynne held tightly in his claws, and when he reached the blooming break in the storm, he breathed a shadowy fire into the blizzard.

The fire climbed high into the tempest, breaking through it as easily as a blade. When he lost his breath and could relinquish no more, Diaval dropped down to the earth and collapsed onto his front, his head and wings stretched out as he watched an opening form there right in front of him. He had given it everything he had with that last burst of energy. He’d done it. The fires created a magical passageway through the dying storm, and Maleficent was close by, she was there, she was -

_ There. _

Diaval wheezed, his breaths shallow. Darkness was falling in across his vision. He could see her, though. He could see her as plain as anything.

The Phoenix transformed back into the form of Maleficent and she was flying through the burning passage, followed by hundreds of Dark Fae. His message had gotten through! They had come and they would help Wickpon, they would guide the humans to the safety of Ulstead and … everyone would be alright. Maleficent would be there protecting them all, her eyes glowing green, just as they were now …

She came at him with lightning speed. Every part of her was alight with green fire. The faerie made a sound of pure, unadulterated rage and it was that moment he remembered just on what terms they had parted with. Whatever wrath she might meet him with, however, he had no choice but to accept.

But she wasn’t Wynne. 

Her rage was not directed at him. As she shot past, she wrenched the Moon Witch out of Diaval’s claws and threw her down aggressively into the snow before landing there beside her, her dark staff manifesting in hand. The cold rage on her face was absolutely terrible to behold - he was sure he had never seen anything like it in his life. Maleficent’s eyes could barely be seen behind that wall of green magic. She was beautiful and terrible and awe-inspiring, striding towards Wynne with no trace of mercy to be found. 

The Moon Witch was struck by burning green magic. She screamed. She was struck again, and again, and again, the powerful energies striking at her like lightning. If not for the intervention of the other fae, Maleficent might have succeeded in killing Wynne like that, but Udo and Borra touched at her shoulders and gently prised her away as the other woman was ensnared in chains by members of her own former clan. 

“I’ll tear her apart!” Maleficent proclaimed savagely, fangs bared.

Wynne just laughed manically in response. She had given up trying to fight off the others, and was sat cross-legged in the snow with her arms and wings bound behind her back.

“Hello, brother!” She greeted Udo, grinning with such contempt that she appeared more demon than she did faerie. “What will you do to me, this time? Banish me into the depths of the sea again? It’s all right. I took countless human lives with this Winter. I took a mate of my own. I’ve _ had _ my fun. Nothing you do to me now is going to change any of that, is it?”

The witch was struck by the vivid green lightning of before. Her scream of pain turned into yet more peals of laughter, though she was silenced by her former kin, who flocked around her and kept her held fast in case she made a mad dash for escape. 

“Keep her alive. We may need her power yet,” Udo advised, though with no trace of affection. Touching Maleficent’s shoulder again, he gestured towards the body of the fallen dragon close by.

Diaval was no longer truly aware of what was happening, only that Maleficent had seized Wynne right from his paw. To have seen her again filled him with a great relief, but it also reminded him of his shame. The raven had been a jealous wreck all that time ago, when it had seemed his biggest problem was where he belonged in the lives of Aurora and Maleficent and the Moors. He had allowed himself to fall prey to the love in his heart, and now his heart was cursed with an icy thorn of magic. So much had changed, so much had happened since then, but the way he felt about Maleficent had not changed at all. 

But he had hurt her with those feelings. However unintentionally, he had done it. 

He barely noticed his transformation back into his man-shape. Sprawled in the snow in a great puddle of hot dragon’s blood, he blindly reached for the arms that pulled him to safety. _ Maleficent. _

Forcing his stinging eyes open, he found himself draped across her lap, cradled by her arms and her warm, beautiful wings. Her eyes were more golden than green, now, and he could feel her power moving over him, healing any wounds and ailments that it came across. It was a wonderful sensation, stark in contrast to the cold cruelty of Wynne’s magic. It was gentle, a summer’s breeze blowing softly across his skin. A lump formed in his throat in response to it. Hot tears gathered in his eyes as he looked up at her, finally able to give himself a moment to break.

“I’m here,” she murmured, moving a hand to hold his frosted cheek in her warm palm. There was pain in her voice, he could hear it, and he longed to banish that pain away from her. “It’s all right. Stay with me, Diaval.” She paused, worry etched in her sharp features. Her fingers worked through the blood and frost in his hair, and then back down across his skin. Diaval could feel the violent shaking of his limbs and tried to force it to stop, but he had no more control over himself than he did the weather. 

“M-Mistress -“

“Something’s wrong,” Maleficent said sharply. Urgently. Holding a hand out over him, he could feel her trying to extract the curse embedded in his heart, but it would not give. In fact, he only felt it all the more after that, a chill numbing his entire body. It was so cold, colder than it had ever been. He couldn’t think straight. He just wanted to look at Maleficent, he wanted to make her happy.

“Mistress, forgive me.”

She looked down at him in alarm. “For what? For …” She made a noise of frustration when the curse failed to give way yet again.

“For the … in the c-cave, it was … Mistress, I - she made me - I’m not -“

Maleficent drew her fingers over his mouth, silencing him. Holding his face in her hands, she leaned down and brushed her nose against his, much as she had in the cave. He felt the splash of a hot tear on his cheek. 

“Hush, now. You have done nothing wrong. Nothing,” she breathed comfortingly, her whispers strained with emotion. “Your love is a gift I did not know how to receive. I was frightened, Diaval. That is why I sent you away. I did not mean for you to … _ here_.” Holding his gaze, her hands remained there, gently encompassing his cheeks. Slowly, she dipped her head down and kissed him. 

A wonderful sensation. Beautiful, warm, and full of life. The real Maleficent was holding him close. The real Maleficent … maybe her love had been real, too. 

Diaval couldn’t speak. The weight of all that had occurred sat heavily on his chest, as did the curse that was sapping him in retaliation for his ultimate betrayal. All he needed to see was his Mistress’ magical eyes, feel the warmth of her hands, and that was it. He could let go. Everything was going to be alright. 

His heavy eyes gave in and closed. His limbs stopped shaking. Diaval of the Moors, loyal servant of Maleficent, fell into peace.

* * *

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you _ dare._”

Maleficent stared down at the pale, haggard face of a man she barely recognised, but a man she knew well nonetheless. There was a curse upon him, she could feel it, and it was draining and nullifying the magic that kept him alive. Diaval was a purely magical creature by then; he had long surpassed the life expectancy of a raven, but she had never once considered the possibility of letting him go.

It wasn’t possible. He was one of the few constants in her life, a tendril of her magic with personality and a smile, but - no, he was more than that. Perhaps only at his departure had she finally come to terms with it. 

And now he was nearly gone, drifting away before her very eyes. Her magic was simply pouring out of him as something else moved in to occupy that space, something so cold and loveless that even Maleficent found it detestable. Still holding Diaval’s face, she gave him a firm shake and tried to push her life-giving power back into him, only for it to be repelled by the curse of ice.

The Phoenix Emerald dropped out of Diaval’s hand. She reached down, not to take the stone but to take his hand into hers, instead, and was devastated to find that his skin was freezing to the touch. He could not seem to even hear her. She desperately tried to rouse him with her magic time and time again, but he remained cold and lifeless. He was frozen. 

The realisation sank slowly into her. It was a numb, empty feeling. Where a heart had usually beat alongside hers, she could no longer feel the familiar thumping of companionship. Diaval was gone.

Her eyes vacant, she gazed down at him and stroked his cheek with her thumb. How foolish, how _ careless _ she had been. Of course she had sent the one she loved to his own grave simply for being so bold as to love her in turn. Of course she had allowed her past to scar her present, let the very same ruination she had felt overwhelm one who had similarly not deserved it. The both of them had so feared being alone, and yet such a fear had driven them apart into an eternity.

It never should have been so difficult to admit the truth. Diaval had loved her, and he had told her as much. How was it that a raven had more courage than she? How was it that he had saved a kingdom in the wake of his own loss?

Most considered Diaval a simple creature. 

Maleficent knew better. She had given him the very heart with which he loved. 

Leaning down, she kissed his cold lips once more, and she sensed the presence of other fae behind her. 

“Send your people to escort the humans to Ulstead,” she said quietly to them. “Udo, have your sister brought to the caves. We will decide upon her fate together.”

She transformed Diaval back into a raven and carefully swaddled him in the folds of her cloak, holding him close. The emptiness she felt upon his loss was ever-increasing, a yawning void of sheer _ nothing_. Her heart had broken so suddenly that she could not yet feel the pain of it. However, as she looked down upon his feathered head and dark beak, she remembered the first night she had ever seen him, when he had fluttered down and regarded her with a true concern. She had not felt so alone that night.

Glancing up when Udo approached her, she felt herself break. She was going to have to tell the Moors. Aurora. She would have to tell Aurora that her father was …

Maleficent closed her eyes, stifling a grief-stricken sob. 

“Make her break the curse,” she demanded thickly. “Make her … before it is too late. It is not his time.”

“I’ll try,” Udo promised in a gentle tone. “Maleficent, take him to Merin back at the caves. She’s wiser than any of us and knows a thing or two about ravens. We’ll take care of everything here.”

She stood and turned to face the others. They nodded at her, then departed for their respective duties, leaving her alone there with Diaval and the Phoenix Emerald. Stooping down, she picked the stone up from the snow and glared at it, her formidable rage almost causing her to simply throw it aside. Instead, she tucked it into the cloak alongside the raven wrapped within it, and then she took to the sky.

The faerie soared with brilliant speed in her urgency. Behind her, the storm continued to ebb, and a kingdom rose from the snow.


	9. A Raven’s Blessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [this awesome art](%E2%80%9C) by [swankkat](%E2%80%9C) Inspired by chapter 6 of this fic!

There was only one other time that Maleficent flew as fast as she did that night - when her kin and her daughter had been threatened by the murderous Queen Ingrith. With those memories fresh on her mind, all that had kept her from destroying the Moon Witch was the far greater urgency to destroy the curse claiming the life of her greatest friend. A journey that would have normally taken a faerie a day of flying took her a mere hour in her desperate haste. Too long, she knew, when every second now was precious. 

They left a trail of gold across the night sky in their wake. Maleficent’s magical essence, that which had once kept Diaval alive, was leaking out of him like stardust. The frost that had touched the tips of his dark feathers now coated them. It was a nightmare unfolding before her very eyes, and it killed her to be so powerless to stop it, her enormous rage taking a step back to make way for grief and an agonising guilt. 

If only she had known sooner what the sorrow in his dark eyes had meant. If only she had been brave enough to unwind the thick, iron chain around her heart and receive the love that had been so plain. If only she had not been so frightened, perhaps she would have released him from servitude when it was due, long ago. Perhaps they would be somewhere else, now, bickering contentedly in a nest they could call their own. Free.

But Stefan had always been there in the back of her mind. The ghost of him was chained there, the boy that had stolen her heart, the man that had promised her his love, only to cut it all away. The pain he caused had been the fire of her rage for all those decades, blinding her to a love worn in the eyes of one who had endured the years never once speaking of it until it was torn out of him for the sake of jealousy. 

She could torture herself with those memories all night, she could consider all of her perceived misdeeds and the fear that had caused them, but that would do nothing to save a raven’s life. 

Maleficent hurtled through the dying storm with lightning speed, flying so fast that she pulled some of the clouds along with her. When the ancestral caves appeared like a green, glittering jewel on the horizon, she dived down and soared through the frigid air towards the island, passing jungle, tundra, and desert until eventually crossing a familiar mesa crowned with a stretch of dark forest. Riding the wind back around, it was only then that she slowed her great speed and landed with powerful beats of her wings within the clearing that housed the circle of stone birds and the treasures they guarded. 

A number of startled forest fae and ravens circled the woods. Their elder, Merin, was thankfully swift to appear, already having been conducting a ritual of growth among the trees. Maleficent felt a strange shift inside herself when she saw the other faerie. It was suddenly difficult to speak. She swallowed past a thick wedge in her throat and desperately approached, holding forth the cold bundle in her arms.

Merin held a hand wonderingly out towards it until realising what - _ who _\- the cursed creature was. 

“Maleficent,“ she began in wounded surprise, her withered face falling. “He’s -“

“No.”

The elder’s eyes softened sadly. She reached out and brushed the last remnants of golden magic out of the hackles on Diaval’s throat, feeling his cold stillness for herself. Maleficent could feel herself trembling as the silent appraisal began to confirm what she could not accept. 

He couldn’t just be _ gone. _ It only seemed like yesterday that he stood by her side, grinning that charming, crooked grin. It couldn’t be possible that such a flame could be snuffed out, unjustly removed from his duties as a father and a friend. It simply could not be so; such a truth was too painful to contemplate, that a good and innocent creature had been abused and forced to wither into the cold unknown. Alone. She hadn’t been there to stop it - she had failed to protect her family. She had _ failed. _

Ensnared in denial, Maleficent strode past Merin and into the circle of ancient stones. She took off her cloak and placed Diaval down before the raven statue, watched by the shadows of his kin stood within the trees and upon the stones themselves, their dark eyes set curiously upon her. The forest fae gathered to watch, too, silent and contemplative as Maleficent desperately resumed trying to bring life to her oldest friend. 

The night was brightened with her glittering, golden magic. It hung over the stone circle like a cloud, shifting and roiling like a potion of healing energies. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, her power would not retrieve his lost soul. She screamed her frustration and beat at the darkened soil with her hands before looking over her shoulder towards Merin, her eyes alight with green fire. 

“_Help me._”

At once, the elder stepped into the circle and knelt down by Diaval’s opposite side, frowning deeply. 

“Maleficent, the Phoenix may have had the power of resurrection, but that did not mean she could bring others back from the dead. Only herself.”

“I do not care what the Phoenix could or could not do!” Maleficent snapped coldly. She pulled the emerald from the cloak and held it aloft, and its green-gold power shone between her fingers. “Perhaps she was too scared to bring her mate back from his sacrifice, but I will not be. I am not just the Phoenix reborn. I am Maleficent, Guardian of the Moors! _ Nobody _ takes from me what is mine.”

Her fingers tightened around the stone. The magical bridge that had formed between her and the ancestral artefact was no more - there was no sea to keep her parted from it any longer. Rejoined with the blood of its creator at long last, the emerald obeyed her like it had obeyed no other in the past, drawing her power from her soul to light itself like a great, green beacon. The entire forest was doused in its glow, and faerie and raven alike watched in awe as that power turned entirely golden, streaming from Maleficent’s fingers into the very earth.

A warm wind began to tug at her wings. Around her, leaves and dark feathers lifted from the ground and began to swirl in the vortex. The blindingly bright golden magic prised ancient droplets of blood from the soil, and they hovered there as if in wait, brimming with an old, whispering power. Merin watched it all unfold with awe, extending her hand over the body of the raven and using her own magic to try and help prise the curse of cold from him. 

Keeping the glowing emerald ensnared in her hand, Maleficent bowed down and touched her forehead upon the earth beside Diaval’s head. 

“I would give all my power to bring you back to me,” she whispered, and the words were stolen by the magical wind swirling within the stone circle. Tears of rage and grief spilled from the corners of her eyes. Slowly rising, she lifted the raven into her lap and caressed his head gently with her thumb, willing the power of the emerald to make right what was wrong. “But if you must go, then don’t you dare venture too far. If I cannot find you in this life then I will find you in the next, my darling. Do you hear me?”

When it seemed as though even her amplified power was doing nothing to rouse him, it broke her. Cradling him in her arms, the faerie silently wept, and as her powers were strengthened, so was her enormous grief. It felt as though a part of her was breaking away, a piece of stone worn and stolen by the waves of the sea, and she would have to live with that missing piece for the rest of her days. 

Stricken, Maleficent felt the coldness of stone in her hand. She could see it, feel it, its presence as eternal as her. Within the blurred, golden light, she saw the emerald’s very formation through her tears, a memory that was not entirely her own showing her that the stone was formed from the shards of everything that she felt, thrust from her body so that she might never feel it again. It was a resort that Maleficent could understand, but not one that she could condone. Not now. She could not be afraid of the things that she felt. She was more faerie than the Phoenix had ever been.

She held the grief of her forebears in her very hand, a magical accumulation of the sorrow of loss. It was a union of tears and blood that had been left to sit on a pedestal for thousands of years. The Phoenix Emerald was a curse in of itself, then, and had been the source of the curse placed on Diaval’s heart. Maleficent gasped through her tears, raising her head to regard the droplets of dark blood floating expectantly through the air. There was a spirit answering her cries, one that had been caged within the stone alongside the abandoned emotions that had created it. 

_ Destroy that divide between you and what you love. _

Maleficent clenched her fist. The Phoenix Emerald broke beneath her strength and snapped into two separate pieces.

There was a moment where the world fell into silence. 

She held her breath. Around her, the ravens cawed loudly and took to the sky, flocking excitedly and dropping their feathers to the earth. They moved with the rampant wind and the magic glittering within it, and then they came together in the middle of the ancient circle of stones, forming a shape from blood, leaves, feathers, and then their own bodies. Before the stunned eyes of the forest fae, the ravens assembled and transformed into one singular being.

She looked on in silence, unwavering and firm, though her wings were spread in preparation to defend the others. It swiftly became clear that it wouldn’t be necessary; the spirit made no attempt to attack, and did in fact seem as stunned as the others, if but for a moment.

The creature looked like a raven-headed man, covered from head to toe in black, lustrous feathers. His hands and feet were long and bony and boasted formidable claws. His eyes were as black as the very night once the golden magic departed his form.

In response to the spirit’s presence, the forest fae dropped to their knees, their mouths agape with shock. Despite his fierce appearance, the wind that circled the being turned gentle and it moved playfully about the hair and wings of the clan as he slowly turned to regard all of them.

They knew well who he was. Maleficent, too, though the tale was new to her, recognised just what the destruction of the Phoenix Emerald had wrought: her power had brought a spirit once lost back into the world, the mysterious woodland entity that had fathered the forest fae but had never been able to meet his children, having succumbed to the weapons of mankind. 

It was difficult to tell how he felt about the matter - he did, after all, currently possess the head of a raven, though there was a familiar sort of kindness to his dark eyes. When he turned to face Maleficent, he clacked his beak and stepped towards her, and she rose to meet him in turn, her arms wrapped protectively around Diaval’s smaller form. 

She barely noticed how she trembled, the warm stickiness of tears on her cheeks. She stood before the spirit and held his gaze as he beheld her. His dark beak then turned down towards the bundle she held in her arms, then back up to her again. What was he doing? What was he thinking? What would he do now that his presence had been restored? Would he resent her for not being the same Phoenix that he had known?

The spirit - Mori’ka - blinked slowly. He tentatively reached out a dark, clawed hand and very lightly touched Maleficent’s cheek, stroking it in the way a long-lost father might be reunited with his one daughter. The raspy little sound that passed his beak was gentle, and though she did not understand what he was saying, the sudden emotional weight of his presence claimed her alongside the grief that clenched tightly at her heart.

_ I am Mori’ka, father of the forest fae. _

The voice was ancient and calm within her mind. Lips parting in surprise, she watched the spirit brokenly, hot tears blurring her vision. 

_ I am a púca, one of four shapeshifting spirits that once roamed the regions of this land. I was a guide to the dead and souls lost in the woods. You have freed my spirit from the curse of the Phoenix Emerald. Now, I might finally venture to the Otherworld and let the past be just that. _

The spirit tilted his head and touched at the raven held in Maleficent’s arms, parting the cloak just so. He then looked towards the night sky and closed his eyes, the impressive hackles on his throat flattening into smoothness. 

_ Part of me has persisted in the descendants of the ravens that feasted on the trees of this forest. Sometimes I observed him through their eyes, sometimes I observed him through his own. That he too was bound by the curse was a cruel twist of fate. That was not what I saw in his future. _

_ I’ll have no need of my power in the realm of rest. The curse is broken thanks to you, and now I give you both this gift in return for what you have done. May you thrive and watch your family grow for many long years, and may you love for as long as you live. _

Maleficent was frightened by the spark of hope that ignited within her in case it was too good to be true. It could not be so - could it? Was she understanding the spirit correctly? She tried to speak and ask him the questions spiralling about her mind, but her voice forsook her and she was forced to watch in rapt silence as Mori’ka closed his hands together and lowered his head to look at her for what seemed to be the final time. 

Golden magic was seeping out of him in rivulets. It glittered in his onyx eyes like stars, swimming slowly through the air and drifting to the body of Diaval, whose feathers were no longer afflicted with frost. Over their heads, the night sky was brightened with beautiful, moving lights that shifted and flashed and then settled into long, winding movements. Maleficent had never seen anything like it in her life, tears falling as she watched the rainbow display of colours shine down upon the Moors. It brought a small, soft smile to her lips, one which swiftly fell when she remembered that Diaval was not there to witness it by her side. 

Turning away from the lights, she gazed down at him lowered her head just enough that she could kiss the very tip of his beak. The magic was igniting him like a flame, but the question remained: was it too late? Would his soul become lost in its return, or would Mori’ka be there to guide him?

The spirit bowed lowly down before them both. And then he fell apart.

Ravens unwound themselves from each other and either took to the sky or hopped about the ground as if nothing had happened at all. Nearby, the eyes of the raven statue shone with light, and then it settled back into its quiet mystery.

The forest fae remained silent, stunned as much as they were reverent. Maleficent drifted towards the statue and placed the two halves of the Phoenix Emerald down onto the stone pedestal where they belonged, though they no longer shone with that magical light. That power had moved on, now.

She took a step back.

A warm wind blew gently through the circle, leaves and feathers circling the pair before disappearing off into the forest. Diaval had already stirred once, though shifted again at that, and a small, throaty caw expressed his confusion. The lights of the aurora shone in his dark eyes when he opened them to look at her.

“Rest, my love,” Maleficent murmured, affectionately closing the warmth of the cloak around him. Her grief was smothered by gratitude and sheer joy, and it took all of her power not to overwhelm him with it, stifling a sound of utter relief as she lowered down to the ground. The other fae went unnoticed. The trees and the wind were silenced. It was just the two of them there, shielded from the world by Maleficent’s wings. 

She cried. She couldn’t help it. A dam within her had pulled apart, loosing wave after wave of years of pent up rage, sorrow, and most potently of all, love. It all clamoured within her, flowing within her tears and in her cries of newfound solace. Far too often, she had come too close to losing everything that meant anything, and she wept freely for them, comforted by the presence of her people and the Moors and the beating hearts of her precious family. By a hair’s breadth, everything had returned to how it should be.

She loved again. She trusted again. She knew it, now.

She was blessed.

* * *

Diaval had lost track of time what felt like months ago. 

He was tended to by the forest fae for however long. By Maleficent’s orders, they made sure he ate and drank and kept warm, because there were often times that he would simply forget. It felt small and unimportant in the scheme of things, after all. His thoughts would simply drift, or not drift anywhere at all. 

He really did try to be more himself, but that person felt like a separate entity that existed only in memory. Sometimes he wondered if the Otherworld had kept that part of him behind as penance for being yanked out of it no sooner than he had arrived. Mori’ka hadn’t warned him of any ill effects upon showing cheerfully up out of the blue, and then suddenly he was looking into a blinding light, as though breaking free of an egg for a second time. The whole thing had been rather strange and he looked back on it as though it were a dream, as that was all it realistically could have been.

Merin had told him what had happened. He had been given a spirit’s blessing. That was why the aurora shone in the sky for two nights following the dawn of his return from Wickpon. What else it meant, exactly, was not clear until he had, quite by accident, turned himself into a bear upon a particularly vulnerable train of thought.

The blessing was Mori’ka’s power of true shapeshifting. At a thought, he could turn himself into any creature he wanted.

It would come in useful, he supposed, though he had never really considered autonomy over his own transformations before. It had all been much simpler when he was a raven transformed by Maleficent, and he was almost always with her so he had never needed control over it himself. Now it was even less clear what he actually was, now, grateful as he felt for the blessing. Was he even still a raven? Or was he something else, now? The power of shapeshifting would have been a lot more useful those nights ago, when he’d had nothing but his lesser strength and wits to fend off a witch. 

At the insistence of the fae, he stayed in those woods for a spell of recuperation. All of his wounds were healed and yet they willed him to stay there, regardless, and he had not the resolve to fight back. If it was what Maleficent wanted, then that’s what he would do, stay and recuperate from an unknown affliction until something changed. He did distance himself from the fae after a while; they were strangers to him for the most part. They asked him questions he didn’t want to answer. So he spent most of his time as various animals, instead, his current favourite being an enormous bear. 

Nobody wanted to talk to a bear. Nobody would dream of messing with a bear. If he couldn’t be a dragon at risk of frightening those trying to help him, then he would simply become the safest option. 

He caught sight of Maleficent every now and then - she would be flying over the forest, or sat beneath a tree talking to Merin. He had distanced himself from her, too. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her. In fact, it was what he wanted more than anything, but his shame simply would not allow for it. She was his Mistress and he had betrayed her by pledging himself to another. He owed her his life all over again for what she had done. And his raven-self, that which (to varying degrees of frustration) considered Maleficent his life-bond, was so confused and pained by the betrayal of intimacy that he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know how or why it had happened. All he knew was that it had left him ashamed and vacant and that he could not even sleep without seeing Wynne there in his mind’s eye. 

Upon the third day, dusk fell and Diaval found himself approached by Merin. She appeared through the trees and looked up at his bear-shape without fear, though did not dare intrude his space, mindful of the claw marks scarring a number of the trees within the small clearing. The ravens milling about were defensive, too, hopping closer to Merin and clacking their beaks, though they allowed her presence out of trust for her. 

With something of a huff, the bear dropped down onto his rear and kept himself purposefully turned away from the elder, ears lowered. 

“Diaval,” Merin began, her usually stern tone as soft as butter. “I thought you might like to know that the Moon Witch faces her trial tonight. The clan leaders have arrived back from Wickpon and decided an appropriate course of action. Maleficent will oversee it and ensure justice is met. You don’t have to be there, of course, but … Well, I’ll update you once it’s over.”

Diaval silently thought about that, drawing in on himself. If he was to go, if he was to see Wynne again, it would just be like walking straight back into the nightmare he had only just emerged from. 

On the other hand, maybe he needed to witness her fate to be able to put his fear to rest once and for all. 

Slowly turning to look at Merin, he regarded her for a long moment, and then turned himself back into a man, shrinking down until he was sat there among the roots and certainly appearing less formidable. It was then that the elder dared move closer, eyeing him with both sympathy and wariness. 

“Did the people make it to Ulstead safely?” Diaval asked. His voice was hoarse from lack of use. 

“Yes. They made it there this morning flanked by a caravan of ravens and frost fairies. That King John fellow had centres set up to receive and treat the sick and hungry.” Merin sat down somewhere near him, using her staff to lower herself down. With a sigh, she placed the staff down and peered up into the trees, smiling softly as the ravens flitted about the branches. “I hope you realise what you have done for those people, Diaval. For this entire land and all its kingdoms. Millions might have died if the Moon Witch had been able to spread her vicious Winter as she wanted to. Perhaps now the souls of those she claimed might rest in peace.”

Relieved, Diaval relaxed a little. The fate of Wickpon had been a great weight on his shoulders. The weight of other concerns, however, pulled down heavily on his heart, and though he was glad and relieved that the people were safe, he felt no glory or pride in Merin’s words. 

“Is, um … Maleficent, is she alright? Is she happy?” He asked nervously, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

“You could always ask her that yourself, boy. Or must I always push you in her direction?” At the lack of response, Merin just shook her head, the little raven-head beads in her hair clinking musically together. “She worries for you. I suppose she even blames herself for the things that happened to you. I don’t know the whole picture, of course … Perhaps you might consider giving her at least a few minutes to see that it’s still you in there.”

Guilt prickled uncomfortably at him. Saddened by the news, he stared blankly off into the trees, his eyes rapidly moistening. 

“I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Merin raised her eyebrows and lightly scoffed. 

“However would you do that?”

“‘Cause I’m not …” Diaval rubbed at his nose and looked away. “I can’t be her servant. I betrayed her. I’m not … I can’t even be a raven. Ravens are loyal.”

“What?” Merin’s eyebrows raised even higher at that. Turning to face him, she seemed about ready to give him a solid prod with her staff, though thought better of it. “If you think for one second that Maleficent blames _ you _ for the terrible things the Moon Witch forced you to do, you’re wrong. And don’t even consider blaming yourself, either. You were fully prepared to give your life to stop Wynne’s madness. You did what you had to do to protect your family. There is nothing more loyal than what you did, Diaval. Now …” The elder puffed out her cheeks in exasperation, though was diligently gentle in the way she looked at him. “You _ are _ a raven. Your parents and ancestors were ravens. No matter what shape you take, a raven is what you will be. Sometimes misunderstood but loyal until the end. You have taught us all a valuable lesson in what you have done, my friend: no matter one’s heritage, no matter how small one might be or feel, we are _ all _ capable of great things. People like you can make all the difference in the world.” Merin smiled broadly at that, then continued, “The Dark Fae are humbled by your actions. Our children will be regaled with the story of one common raven who raised a human child as his own fledgeling. A raven that loved a faerie more than his own life. A raven that saved the world from an eternal, bitter cold. Don’t you ever forget the good that you have done.”

The elder looked to the sky as darkness continued to fall. Rising to her feet, she brushed off her clothes and unfolded her wings in preparation to fly. Diaval watched her in silence, very slowly absorbing her wisdom and suddenly finding himself unwilling to be left alone there in the woods; through the dull pangs of quiet despair, a deep yearning arose out of the fog, almost comforting in its painful familiarity. 

_ Maleficent. _

He could not take another night not seeing her face. She had risked herself to find him, she had broken a treasure of her people to break the curse on him, and all he had done in return was hide from her.

Following Merin and rising to his feet, he then transformed into a raven in a small gust of feathers and leaves and flew up into the sky. The winds caught in his feathers and provided a thrill he had not felt in so long as he rose into the warmth of the setting Sun. The heavens were clear, stars beginning to glitter within the oncoming blanket of night, not a storm nor even a cloud in sight, and there over the sea, his sharp eyes saw the shadow of the Moors on the horizon. Home. 

Merin dived down over the mesa’s ledge and soared off into the valley. Diaval followed her, passing the waterfalls and the forests that glowed softly in the disappearing twilight, and the dry, desert-like bowels of the earth. Eventually they came upon a part of the island that Diaval had never seen up close. It was situated on the shore, a massive expanse of land that was dusted with frost and icy sheets of frozen snow. On the dark ragged cliffs nearby, the tundra fae were gathering along with the respective leaders of the four clans.

Maleficent was there, too. She was stood next to Udo, and the two of them were staring stoically towards the caves ahead of the overhang above the sea. Diaval’s heart fluttered with nerves as he flew down and quietly joined the gathering, taking care to keep himself hidden for the most part, waiting behind the busiest crowd of white-winged fae.

Merin, Borra, and Shrike joined Udo and Maleficent at the crown of the cliffs. Over their heads, hanging low in the night sky, was the full Moon. Strangely, it seemed larger than usual, glowing with vigour and lighting the entire island, an ever watchful eye. It suddenly seemed as much a presence there as the clan leaders did. 

There was a tense silence as they waited for something to happen. Merin leaned in and whispered something in the ear of Maleficent, who then cast her gaze about the crowd with a curious expression. Diaval was hidden well enough in the shadows of the fae that she did not see him, and her sweep of the gathering came to a swift halt when a shrieking laughter pierced the silence like an icy blade.

Diaval’s blood ran cold upon hearing it. The sound threatened to transport him and upheave his thoughts from the slog, and not in a way that was pleasant. Holding his breath, he kept his gaze fixed firmly on Maleficent through the thin gap he could see her through, and the vision of her served to keep him grounded.

He wanted to approach and tell her how much he had missed her. Would she be pleased? Angry? He would take anything. It wasn’t the time, however. The faerie’s attention was fixed elsewhere, and Diaval reluctantly glanced towards where she was looking. 

The Moon Witch, bound in chains, was being pulled towards the cold, rocky overhang by a number of her kin. 

She was still laughing as she tried to pull away from them, as though it were all just a game. The fae tugged and pushed at her, and the crowd parted to allow her through, scowling and heckling as she passed. The witch was thrown down onto her knees before the clan leaders, and it was only then that her laughter finally began to dry up, her head lifting to regard not the fae but the very Moon itself. 

Her smile dripped away like ice melting from a stone.

“What will you do with me?” She asked, her high tone like that of a child. Cleverly innocent. Her pale eyes were full of the Moon as she slowly rose to her bare feet, and then she closed them, her dry lips curving. “Brother. Udo. Surely you wouldn’t have your own sister murdered?”

Udo wisely ignored her question. The faerie stepped forth and regarded his sibling as though she were a stranger. It was a cold sort of look that did not entirely suit one who had always seemed so kind.

“Wynne. Your deplorable actions have led to the deaths of thousands of innocent humans in the kingdom of Wickpon.”

Shrike stepped forwards, then.

“You threatened the entire world with cold and starvation!”

“You enslaved men and killed them when they refused to obey you,” said Borra, joining them.

Merin was last to join them in the accusations, but when she spoke, her voice was filled with the most hate of them all.

“I taught you, Wynne. I showed you how to control your great power. You could have done so many great things for the Dark Fae, for the world! You squandered it all to evil! Your talons are bloodied by your crimes, and you will not be granted the mercy of banishment again.”

Wynne did not seem threatened, though neither did she seem amused. Her jaw tensed, and then she sighed, turning to regard Maleficent. 

“Anything from the Guardian of the Moors?” She asked coyly, with a mocking little bow. “Might I have done anything to offend you? Nothing of real consequence, I’m sure.”

It was a wonder that Maleficent did not ignite in her rage - it was clear enough that the potential was there, her nerves struck by Wynne’s cruel teasing. Her lips tightened and her fingers gripped her staff so tightly that the wood seemed ready to splinter. There was no gold in her eyes, there hadn’t been for some minutes. Only sharp, vicious green, set on Wynne like a cat getting ready to pounce. It was only a matter of time. 

At the lack of response, Wynne forced out her tinkling little laugh, flicking her stark white hair over her shoulder. 

“No? Perhaps stealing the Phoenix Emerald? It was really _ too _ easy. I put the fear of the gods in those ravens who watch over it. It was fun, really. They couldn’t protect it. They couldn’t even protect themselves when I attacked them.” Wynne’s head slowly turned. Somehow, she had picked out Diaval in the crowd, and she stared right into his soul with those dreadful eyes. She found nothing but amusement in the pain she had caused. “Ravens will give you anything you want if you know how to use them. Simple things. Haven’t you learnt that, Maleficent?”

Numb to the flash of green and the scream that followed, Diaval watched as Wynne crumpled to the ground. He didn’t even blink. If he did, then the wretched tears forming would surely fall.

He felt naked, stripped bare. He could feel the searching gazes of others upon him and wished that the sea would rise up and wash him away from them all. The agony of a hundred cruel transformations ached in his bones, invisible bruises marred his skin. He could feel her hands - _ talons _ \- on him, passing on the curse of a vulnerability that had not existed there before, ripping a piece of him out that now seemed lost for good. Why had he followed the fae here? Why had he ever come to the island at all? 

Wynne had been everything he feared. One who would force him into servitude, one who would never listen. One who was completely loveless and cruel. One who had pulled back the curtain and shown him the truth of his own weaknesses, that he wasn’t a fighter in any sense of the word, that he was destined to follow and obey for the rest of his days. She had shown him that. She had put truth into the doubts that had been slowly creeping forth the more he learnt and experienced over the years. 

But even Diaval knew that she had unwittingly unveiled a strength, too.

Though ashamed and burned by Wynne’s words, Diaval found himself pushing through the crowd. He emerged in time to find Maleficent stood above the smoking form of the Moon Witch, her staff raised and magically altered to form a sharp blade at its base, one which threatened to fall down and pierce through Wynne at any second. Green magic burned around them, but Diaval was not afraid.

Approaching his Mistress, he embraced her before she could enact her vengeance. 

It took a moment. His heart thudded fearfully in his chest. Perhaps she could feel it, given their proximity. 

“You don’t have to,” he said to her, keeping her held close. “Not for me. I’m sorry, Mistress. I won’t see you do that.”

Maleficent gasped quietly by his ear. There came the clatter of the staff falling to stone, and then she did the unthinkable.

She embraced him back, in full view of everyone present. 

Her arms were taut around him. Safe. Her fingers dug into his back, desperate to keep him close. She was warm and somehow sharp and soft all at once, and her familiar scent of berries and Autumn was a comfort to his senses. Her palm slid up the back of his neck and her hand buried into his hair while the other moved to grip the loose front of his shirt. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she relaxed against him as though they were alone in the world. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” she breathed. “I thought I had lost my better half.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Diaval pulled back just enough that he could rest his forehead gently against hers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t really want to be a faerie. I just wanted … I felt like I couldn’t compare to them. And your wings … I’m -“

Fingers touched at his lips, silencing him. Big, beautiful eyes opened to look at him, an affectionate ferocity in the faerie’s gaze. 

“Enough. I could not control my fear, Diaval. I sent you into the hands of a witch. I will never forgive myself.”

“You couldn’t have known!” He insisted. “It wasn’t your fault. It was all her. She makes people blame themselves for things she’s done. Everything that happened … maybe it wasn’t either of us. Maybe it was both of us. We can work through it.”

The pair regarded each other in that quiet moment. They did not see snowflakes beginning to fall silently down from the stars. Slowly shifting, they joined their hands at their chests in a manner reminiscent of the dance they had not gotten to share all that time ago, and it was only then that Diaval found the strength to free a truth that had been caged for too long.

“I love you, Mistress. I have for years.”

Maleficent’s gaze was almost pure gold as she beheld him. She could have frozen up in that moment, as she had a tendency to do. She could have transformed him and sent him away. She didn’t. The fear that had plagued her was perhaps stifled in her great relief, and Diaval was surprised to find her accepting his words with a small smile. If she still considered herself the unlovable faerie Mistress of the Moors, it seemed that notion was fading. 

“I …” she managed, her momentary shyness startlingly endearing. “Diaval. I came to love you, too, as our time together passed. I am willing to speak more on it … perhaps in a little while.” Maleficent arched an eyebrow, and then her hold on him was gently relinquished. 

“Oh, right. Er …” Remembering just where they were, Diaval took a small step back and glanced awkwardly in the direction of the clan leaders, who were watching them with a mixed bag of little smiles. The tundra fae, too, seemed satisfied with their little display of affection.

Suitably embarrassed, Diaval cleared his throat and awkwardly shifted his gaze about between them all. Pulled clean out of the moment, he recalled with great discomfort that Wynne was struggling mere inches from his feet. Quickly turning and jumping as though caught on fire, he quickly found himself somewhere behind Maleficent, peering past the curve of her wing in fright when the Moon Witch shakily rose from the ground. 

She wore a disturbingly blank expression, watching them with a vague curiosity. Smoke swirled from dark scorch marks across her body. All the cruelty she had been thrusting like a blade at them seemed to have died a death. Her eyes were as wide as the Moon, and then, finally, something within her seemed to break. 

“It’s not fair,” she whispered hoarsely, her chained wings drooping. As she spoke, tears welled up and spilled over her cheeks, freezing in place there. Frost was creeping over her fingers and feet, slowly spreading up over her limbs until the entirety of her was glittering in the light of the stars. The witch moaned with sorrow, watching the pair with such devastation that it was heart-rending to see. “It’s not fair. I just wanted someone to love me. I just wanted …” She trailed off, shaking with quiet sobs. 

Diaval slowly reappeared from behind Maleficent, holding out a hand towards Udo when the other instinctively made to go to Wynne. He shook his head in silent warning, and the faerie complied with a small, knowing nod. 

“We loved you, Wynne,” Udo said, soft as the breeze. “We were your family. All of us. Love is not bending others to your will. It is not corruption. The things you have done are unforgivable. You cannot be Dark Fae, and you cannot be our sister any longer. The Wynne I grew up with is already gone.”

Wynne turned to him, her watery eyes beseeching, features creasing in true fear. 

“Udo, _ please _. I’m not gone! I’m right here! You can’t kill me! We came into this world together!” Moving desperately towards him, she stumbled when the clan leaders parted, and she suddenly faced the shining depths of the sea. She gasped and froze in place, slowly raising her head until she came face to face with the Moon itself.

An ice-cold wind arose and moved through the hair and feathers of all present. Diaval was overcome with a strange sensation, a sort of depth of feeling one gets when in the presence of something ancient and humbling. Unnerved, he stayed close to Maleficent, sure that he could hear the formidable screeching of an owl sounding quietly on the wind that rocked them. 

“The Moon gave you a second chance,” Udo continued. His voice was thick with emotion. “Our clan’s father spirit pulled you from the sea. You will not face our judgement today, Wynne, but that of the Otherworld.”

Wynne did not seem to be listening. Still staring up at the Moon, she seemed caught in some sort of peaceful trance. All the sorrow and pain that had been plain there for all to see was mysteriously vanquished. Like a statue of ice, she remained there on the edge of the island, gazing up into the heavens as if something, somewhere, was whispering to her in a voice or language few others could hear. 

Diaval could hear it. Maybe it was his sharp ears, or maybe it was something to do with Mori’ka’s blessing, but he could hear trace whispers of the Old Language within the moonlight. It was the language of trees and the beasts of the wilds, it was the language of spirits and the stars themselves.

He knew to turn away, having heard the enticing words spoken from the heavens, and so he did not see Wynne slowly topple and disappear over the edge of the island. 

The quiet seemed to last an age. It would likely be a painless affair; her body had seemed vacant of her soul even before the fall.

At the crash of waves, Diaval closed his eyes and covered his mouth with his hand. Numb with shock, he weakly held on to Maleficent’s shoulder, a great void of dismay within him taking him by surprise. The world was so silent. The whispers had ceased having claimed their prize. After everything Wynne had done, after all the death and suffering she had caused, why did it feel so strangely awful that she was suddenly gone?

The Moon had given her a second chance, once. Perhaps it had seen something good in her. Something that could have brought great change and saved lives rather than take them. Wynne had chosen not to be that person. In response to her mad pursuit of power and twisted vision of love, the Moon had made right what was wrong. 

But the Moon Witch was not truly dead. Not yet. Her ghost lingered on in Diaval’s memory, a place where she was unwelcome but a place where she would persist nonetheless. It almost sort of seemed as though she wasn’t really gone at all, because the thought of her still hurt. It felt as though she would be there forevermore, slinging those cruel words at him and flashing her blood-stained black talons with that wicked smile.

Maybe the part of him that was lost was down there in the waves, clenched in the hand of a witch. 

Warm fingers roused him from his shock. Breath hitching, he felt them drift down his forearm and then slide into his hand, where they gripped him with comforting solidarity. And then there was a soft palm on his cheek, too, and eyes of forest green interspersed with leaves of gold watching him with a true affection. 

He heard Maleficent command the others. The crowd of tundra fae began to quickly disperse in response. The clan leaders took charge of Udo, who was clearly affected by the loss of his sister, and guided him away towards the ancestral caves. Even the Moon seemed dimmed. 

It took him a small moment to realise that they were alone. Focusing on Maleficent, it struck him hard that he really _ was _finally back with her. Somehow, he had flown his way home, even after looking death itself in the eye, he was with his Mistress and he would be able to stay true to his promise to Aurora. In wake of that realisation and the space Wynne had left behind, Diaval allowed relief to flood him at long last, sinking to his knees. 

Maleficent followed him down and guided him until his head was resting in her lap. As they both gazed out into the dark horizon, her fingers stroked slowly through his hair.

* * *

“Diaval?” She murmured after some time, nudging at the shell of his ear. 

“Yes, Mistress?”

The stroking stopped, then swiftly resumed.

“You are not to call me that anymore. That is my last order to you.”

Fear at once prickling at him, he quickly turned his head to peer up at her, devastated by the revelation.

“You don’t want me as a servant anymore, do you?”

“No, I do not.”

“Then …” Diaval swallowed past the rising lump in his throat. Was Maleficent angry at him, after all? “What will I do? Where will I go?”

“Whatever and wherever you like,” she answered simply, though the turn to her lips suggested a fear of her own. “You earned your freedom long ago, old friend. I was … Well.”

Thinking for a moment, the raven tried to think of a place that he would rather be. Things he would rather be doing. He already knew the answer, however.

“There is nowhere else I would rather be than at your side, Maleficent. You and Aurora are my family.” A brief pause, and then he managed some sort of smile up at her. “I see how it is. You found that rugged mountain lion you’d prefer as your servant, didn’t you? Does he make a more charming and more beautiful one than me? Or - no, it’s Borra, isn’t it?”

The faerie’s smile lit up Diaval’s entire world. She sniffed tearfully, then rolled her eyes and dabbed elegantly at the moisture on her pale cheeks. 

“Then stay with me,” she said firmly. “Come home to the Moors. Share my nest and share my life.” Her lips pursed slightly, and she cocked her head. “Not much change, I suppose, other than you no longer referring to me as Mistress, and -“

“Maybe I like callin’ you Mistress.”

“It’s hardly proper between mates, is it? I suppose there _ is _ a time and a place … every now and again.”

Diaval sat up at that, gazing at the faerie head on. His mouth was rapidly going dry, and his heart decided it was an appropriate time to start beating a mile a minute. 

“D’you mean that?”

Maleficent sighed. “If you _ really _want to call me Mistress, Diaval -“

“No. What? Yes - no, I mean - Is that what we are now? Mates? Do you mean it?”

“_Oh_. Well, now …” Her look was mischievous, but meaningful. “I suppose it’s been that way for some time. Nobody can take that from us. We have weathered many storms together, and I am certain that we shall weather many more.”

Diaval did, for some time, feel the coldness that Wynne had left within him banished to another place. All he could do was smile. He, a common raven, had the blessing that really mattered: a family that loved him as much as he loved them, and there was no witch on the earth that could take it from him. 

Beneath the Moon’s light, faerie and raven sat entwined. 


	10. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, friends, it’s been a hectic period! Apologies for any misspellings, mistakes, or general badness - working off a couple of hours sleep but determined to get this out there! I’ll go back and edit properly very soon. 
> 
> This fic is also available in Russian over here.

“Diaval?”

Roused from a heavy daydream, Diaval turned away from the dawn and found Maleficent appearing from between the trees. She had spent the early morning saying farewell to the Dark Fae; many of them would be departing into the wide unknown that day, searching for new homes and new lives away from the old prison of their island. Diaval was patiently waiting at the shore. Glancing up, he saw flocks of fae already departing within the new light.

“Mis- Maleficent,” he greeted, hastily correcting himself. Watching her approach, he smiled at her and took her hand when she reached out to him, pressing a diffident kiss to her knuckles. 

She smiled graciously back at him, though not without a touch of concern to her eyes. The faerie was magnificent in a loose, silken regalia of autumnal colours. Her brown hair was bound in a glittering, golden crown, and her ivory skin was aglow in the morning mist, extraordinarily radiant. Letting go of his hand, she did a playful little twirl and sent the leafy hem of her rests spinning about her ankles, loosing a delighted little laugh in her joy. 

Diaval loved seeing her like this. It was more often these days that she smiled and shared her laughter, pulling back the curtain to reveal the loving and often mischievous faerie behind the guarded facade of cold contempt. She shone in the light, more precious than any emerald that he had ever seen. 

Maleficent peered over her shoulder at him and slowly opened her wings, showing off the non-existent back to her dress. It was a bold choice; the dress rejoined at the small of her back, the silk billowing out. Diaval was rendered speechless by the display. Gulping, he willingly absorbed all that was being offered, the graceful, soft lines of her back and the beautiful expanse of dark wings. The light caught her feathers in such a way that suggested a velvety quality, and his fingers itched to bury into them, a raven’s instinct to admire and preen them kicking its way into the forefront of his mind. 

No matter how soft they looked, no matter how they glittered, he kept his hands to himself. 

“You’re beautiful,” he choked out, awestruck.

Maleficent’s wings drooped a little. They gracefully swept the sand as she turned and went to him, and she moved her elegant hands to his cheeks, her touch gentle. She looked him over, her brow still creased with soft concern.

“Darling,” she said lowly, meeting his gaze again, “you can touch them.”

Blinking with surprise, Diaval dared raise his hands a little, though hesitated. 

“Can I?”

With a quiet huff of laughter, Maleficent released his face and took his wrists, instead, guiding his touch to her bare back, and then she leaned slowly against him. Diaval felt just about ready to explode. Not only was Maleficent openly showing affection, she was doing so physically. In the past, the faerie’s seldom displays of endearment towards him were spoken and often in the form of jest. That had been the nature of their relationship for some years and he had enjoyed it. Now, the faerie had placed herself willingly into his embrace, and it brought him great joy to know that she felt free and happy enough to do so. This was a Maleficent from long ago, reborn. He was fortunate enough to love her, and somehow, over the years, he had earnt her love in turn.

He touched her as though she was made of glass, palms and fingers gently moving up her back until finding the bases of her wings. Feeling the beginnings of feathers, he hesitated.

“Go on,” Maleficent urged. “I trust you.”

Her eyes fluttered closed the moment he moved in to reverently stroke the strong arches. Evidently it was important to her that they were joined in such a way, as a show of trust and perhaps as something symbolic of their newly developed relationship. Perhaps, too, it was a way of putting what Stefan did behind her. Diaval was as eager to make her happy as he was to run his fingers through her feathers, which were just as velvety to the touch as they appeared when he finally did so. Slowly did he comb through them, lovingly memorising their silken warmth and the sweet scent that emerged. 

Focused on caressing her and straightening any errant feathers he found, it took a moment for him to notice her looking up at him with an emotion he could not place. He stopped fiddling with her wings and put his hands on her shoulders, instead. 

“Are you all right?” He asked sincerely, troubled by the expression she wore. “If it’s too much, I won’t do it again.”

Surprised by that, Maleficent shook her head and smiled weakly. 

“No, it’s perfect. I hope that you might do it again.” Her smile fell. “There’s something I need to tell you, Diaval.”

“Oh. Last time you said that, it was ‘cause I had me trousers on back to front in court.” Diaval spared a moment to glance down. His trousers were, thankfully, on the right way around. Something of an uncomfortable feeling began to bubble up in his gut; if Maleficent was nervous, it was sure to make  _ him _ nervous in turn. He had a horrible feeling he knew what it was about.

“It’s certainly not that -“

“Got somethin’ in me teeth, then?”

“ _ No _ .”

“Got it. I shapeshifted a tail by accident.”

Quite on purpose, he did just that. There was something vaguely wolf-like about the shape of it, and he wagged it with great enthusiasm upon turning a bit to show Maleficent. She stared down at it with alarm, and the tail drooped with disappointment, the joke having clearly missed its mark.

“You put that away this instant!”

Raising his eyebrows, Diaval shrugged and shapeshifted the tail away again. Not sure he wanted to hear what it was the faerie really had to say, he pouted in another attempt to make her laugh, nervously anticipating whatever it was causing her to frown so severely.

“If we might talk seriously a moment,” she began pointedly, though she reached forth to hold his hand. “Diaval, there was a moment in Wickpon when I connected with the Phoenix Emerald. It was how I was able to transform you after you …” Maleficent paused, briefly glancing away, “after you fell into the river. The stone saw fit to show me everything that it had seen, everything that the Moon Witch had done.”

Diaval stared blankly at her, his hand loose in her palm. 

Maleficent continued, “I understand what it is that you must be feeling. The awful transformations she forced upon you were bad enough, but the -“

“Fine.” The shapeshifter blurted out, a terrible chill suddenly racing across his skin. “I mean, I’m fine.” Impossible as it was to accumulate his thoughts and feelings on the matter, it seemed the easiest thing to say. He was fine, wasn’t he? He was stood there in one piece and Maleficent was there, too, and they were on the verge of flying home together to see Aurora. What wasn’t fine about that? The enormous discomfort and even anger within him would fade, because that’s what emotions did, as he understood it. “Shall we go home? Aurora must be wondering where on earth we’ve disappeared to. Feels like I haven’t seen the Moors in months. How has she been?”

Maleficent’s gaze was searching. Her hand tightened around his. 

“She has been worrying about you.”

“Ah,” Diaval murmured, and ventured a small, crooked smile that spoke his sadness in the matter. “Well. We’d best be off, then. I won’t have her worryin’ a moment longer.”

“Diaval -“ Maleficent attempted, not letting go of his hand.

Reluctant to look at her face and see the pity there, he kept his gaze firmly directed at his feet, which shuffled uncomfortably in the silence. It was bad enough that Maleficent was fully aware of everything that had happened, but it was quite another thing that she had witnessed it all unfold in detail before her very eyes. The thought of her having seen it made him feel sick to his stomach. Diaval tried to hide his shame, perhaps unsuccessfully. The beginnings of an unpleasant itch across his skin made him fidget and want to escape the hold of the faerie’s eyes. To see her pain inspired a guilt that threatened to overwhelm him if he focused on it for too long. 

“Let’s not think about it,” he beseeched. “I don’t want to. I’m fine, Maleficent, I swear. I just want to go home. I thought I’d never see it again. Thought I’d never see you and Aurora again.” Lifting her hand to his lips again, he kissed the back of each of her fingers and then placed a few upon her slender wrist, making the most of being allowed to do so. 

Maleficent watched him with pursed lips, apparently unconvinced, and then arched an eyebrow at his unsubtle flirtation. Though she did not smile, she made no attempt to pull away, perhaps enjoying the attention enough to be suitably distracted from all that the Phoenix Emerald might have shown her. The Moon Witch was gone, and they were going home. It was supposed to be a happy ending. There was no room for unpleasant memories. 

“She’ll be thrilled to see you,” Maleficent admitted, thankfully backing down. “Do you feel up to flying the distance yourself?”

The faerie’s words of concern were somewhat strained. The new nature of their relationship, of course, must have been just as strange for her as it was for him, and it would likely take some getting used to. Diaval smiled crookedly at her in response, amused by the awkwardness to her tone. 

“What if I say no? Will you carry me all the way?” 

He had pushed his luck. Maleficent allowed the tiniest of smirks, and then she haughtily raised her head and brushed past him, nudging him sharply with the edge of her wing. 

“Goodness, no. I’d have the pixies come back for you. I’m a faerie, not a chariot.”

“But if you were a chariot, you’d be the loveliest one of all.”

Though she had moved past him, Maleficent still held his hand and turned back to him with a somewhat forced frown, rolling her eyes. 

“You’re as charming as ever, Diaval.”

“Right. I’ve always been the charming one. Must’ve done something right at some point. You can’t deny it now, can you? It was that or the good looks.”

“Do not simplify yourself so,” the faerie insisted flatly, missing out on the joke. Her thumb swept encouragingly over his fingers. “You are a great many things. Loyal, brave, and the kindest man I have ever known. And sometimes …” she paused, lips pursing again. “ _ Sometimes,  _ you are funny.”

“Do you know how hard it is to make you laugh? I should be commended, if anythin’. Speaking of which, maybe we’ve got five minutes before heading back?” 

Diaval released Maleficent’s hand and gently held her elbows, instead, cautiously watching the change in her expression as they shifted to face each other. She was warm to the touch, a sudden but welcome change to the cold nights he had spent sleeping in the snow. 

He still felt that cold. Faced with so much warmth and love, he felt the cold more than ever, an unwelcome memory that clung to him like an illness. As he touched her, he was forced to think of the nights he had spent alone, punished and burdened with shapes he did not want to wear. Regardless, he leaned in with just enough suggestiveness that it was read with clarity, and the distance between them was shyly closed. 

He feared a negative outcome, some sort of punishment for what he was doing, and then he feared what might happen if he tried to pull away. Perhaps an even more bruising pace, or fangs biting into skin, or perhaps even the cruel bite of magic. He wanted more than anything to be close to her, however, wanted her hands and her soft, red lips. He wanted things that were now more confusing than ever, a flame at odds with a dark cold lingering there in the back of his mind. Determined to show her that he was fine and that the past was behind them, he kissed her with a confidence that seemed strangely separate from him; if he really thought about what he was doing, he would surely falter out of nerves or memory of a passion he had not wanted.

Eager to stoke the flame so that the cold might be banished once and for all, he brought his arms around her and she brought hers up around his shoulders in turn. Her smooth claws ran lightly over the back of his head, sending pleasant tingles rushing across his upper back and arms. She, too, grew in confidence, the slow tentativeness to their kiss evolving into something rather more needy and heated there on that quiet, peaceful shore. She felt her way down the length of his arm as his hand fell to her hip, then she pressed herself against him and parted their kiss, her slight smile nothing short of coquettish. 

“ _ Diaval. _ ”

“Yes, Mis- Maleficent?” Diaval fumbled, dazed.

Her smile fell somewhat. Leaning in, she briefly touched her forehead against his cheek.

“I wish that I had allowed myself to see what we shared,” she murmured, holding his hand fast to her hip. “I never would have let you go. I almost tore our family apart in the name of fear. I almost … You were there in my arms and you were gone.”

“It’s done, Maleficent. It’s behind us. You can’t be blamed for your fear. I’ve known you since your wings were lost, remember? I’ve seen all the love and goodness in you. I know you. We can move on together, now. One step at a time.”

“I know you,” the faerie repeated, looking up at him with the glitter of magic in her eyes. “Old friend.”

“Pain in my neck.”

“Raven menace.”

“Queen of All Evil.”

They kissed again, winding eagerly around each other. The sea lapped insistently at their feet, but they paid their surroundings no mind, absorbed into a new, peaceful world that belonged only to them. 

It had always been a strange sort of ritual to Diaval, who had never had to think much about kissing at all, though he realised it was not much different to the way ravens would affectionately rub their beaks together, only more … involved, perhaps. Strangely exciting, though he was not entirely sure why. Maleficent had a way of making it feel good, whereas Wynne …

Startled by a sudden shift within himself, Diaval broke their union and took a step back, staring down at his darkening hands. Shadows crept into his vision, and then a strange wind transformed him entirely. That was how his shapeshifting worked, now: a brief, dark wind that carried feathers and dead leaves in its wake changing him into what he wanted - though it had not yet happened uninvited. Not until that unfortunate moment.

Finding himself raven-shaped, he landed clumsily on the pebbles and struggled there a moment. Fearing that Maleficent would take offence to the sudden interruption, he looked up at her and cawed indignantly, stretching out his wings in a display of confusion. Even worse, when he tried to transform back into a human, the magic simply wouldn’t come. 

Just as confused as he, Maleficent knelt down and invited him to to perch on her outstretched hand. He did so, puffing out his feathers in a mixture of frustration and lingering titillation. The faerie rose and regarded him with a curious tilt to her head, idly stroking his back. She did not say whatever it was that she might have been thinking, and her expression was unreadable. Diaval croaked his exasperation and tried to transform again to no avail. 

Hating to have disappointed her, the raven quickly hopped up onto her shoulder and rubbed his head against her cheek, instead, perplexed and immediately irritated by it all. He took to the sky soon after; there was no use lingering if he could not do any of the things his man-shape could, though he was ensnared with pleasant imagery as he flew across the water. Curse his wretched transformation! 

He headed off the direction of the mainland and heard Maleficent follow. Her greater wings allowed her to overtake him with ease, though she thankfully stayed close by, pausing every now and then to sit on an updraft and watch him catch up. She was otherworldly in the morning light, her dress billowing out in the wind, at one with the sky and the sea and the land approaching on the horizon. Diaval could barely keep his eyes off her and was forced to rely on her sense of direction rather than his own.

Eventually, the sea was left behind and they flew together over the vast expanse of mountains, rivers, and forests that composed the Moors. The relief Diaval felt upon seeing familiar landmarks was indescribable and he would surely never take his home for granted again. A nervousness tugged at his thoughts, however, for though the Moors appeared very much the same, there was a strangeness to it. A strangeness to him. Being somewhere that brought familiar comfort felt odd when there were things within himself that he did not recognise. 

Time. He just needed time. He needed a long sleep. Most of all, he needed to see Aurora again. 

As they approached the woodland castle, his nervousness grew to a peak and he diverted down to the rear of the structure, landing somewhere near the hot springs. Darting into the woods before the water nymphs could spot him, he then managed to transform back into his man-shape, though clumsily so, taking a good moment to rid himself of the feathers on his arms. 

Maleficent landed close by and regarded him with that same unreadable expression as before. He smiled apologetically at her in response, shaking a hand in an attempt to shrink his black claws. 

“I didn’t mean to transform back there,” he said quickly, and sighed with relief when the claws retreated back. “Just sort of happened. Then I got stuck.”

“Stuck,” Maleficent repeated back to him, her tone flat as she considered his words. “I suppose a magic new to you will be unpredictable. Why have we stopped here?”

“Well …” Diaval murmured, peering between the trees up at the castle. Anxiously fiddling, he then glanced back down at his feet. “I only want to see her. I don’t really want the attention of everyone else. Not yet.”

Her gaze was searching, concern allowing itself back onto her features.

“I understand. I’m not sure she can walk this far, however. Fly to her chambers - she should still be asleep.”

Diaval nodded. Lingering a moment, he looked up at the open castle and then transformed with a bit more finesse. As a raven, he flew out of the woods and over the trees and old, stone walls, heading for the grove of willows. He stayed to the shadows in an attempt to avoid the sights of fairies milling about, though it was early hours and most of them were still asleep in the flowers. Upon reaching the grove, he transformed back and treaded nervously into the clearing. 

Maleficent was somewhere behind him, and her presence served to be a comfort; it had felt so long since he had seen Aurora. He felt guilty for having almost broken his promise to her. Pausing, his mind forced him to consider what might have happened if the worst had come to pass. The most painful part was that he would not have been there to comfort her.

A cursed lump formed in his throat. He could see her there in her bed flowers, her form gently rising and falling with her breathing. She was peaceful, and what a blessing that was; their tale could have easily unfolded in a different way if not for Maleficent’s quick thinking and the kindness of a forest spirit. Slowly drawing forwards, Diaval moved past the pond and towards the bed, the resident fireflies awaking to flutter excitedly about him. 

He sat there within the flowers, gazing down upon the sleeping features of Aurora. She slept on her side and cradled her swollen belly, which was now bigger than ever. Diaval gently began to stroke the golden waves of her hair as his relief thankfully overwhelmed his nerves. There she was, his little fledgeling. Not too long ago, he thought he’d never see her again. 

“Aurora,” he said softly, brushing strands of her hair out of her face. “Diamond.”

It took a moment, but the queen’s eyes slowly fluttered open. She smiled at the sensation of fingers moving through her hair, sighing with contentment, though her features then creased with pain as she was roused into full awareness. Startled, she quickly sat up and stared at Diaval as though he were a dream, disbelief clear in her eyes. 

Her breath caught. Her face crumpled, and then she made a sound of both joy and sorrow, throwing herself into Diaval’s arms. There, she cried gratefully into his shoulder and held onto him as though trying to prevent him from floating off into the sky. 

The sight and sound of her weeping only served to set him off. He sniffed noisily and held her as tightly as he could, rubbing her back in an attempt to comfort he, though he had never dealt with such a reaction save for a few times he had caught Maleficent crying, and thus had no real idea of what to do. So he just held her close, relieved to have his dear Aurora with him again, safe and sound.

Eventually, the young queen pulled back and reached up to feel about his face, as though making sure it was truly him. Perhaps he looked just different enough to be unconvincing, or perhaps it was just sheer worry. Reaching forth, he used his loose sleeve to carefully dab at the wetness on her cheeks. 

“You l-look …” Aurora began, though her voice caught. “What did she do to you?”

Diaval just smiled at her. It was all he could do. She could never know the truth and extent of what had happened in Wickpon. It was bad enough that Maleficent had been privy to all of it. 

“Nothin’. It’s just been a long time away. That’s all. I missed you.”

The weight of his weariness must have sounded in his voice, however. No sooner had he stopped talking, Aurora was pushing him down on the flower bed. He did as she wanted and laid there surrounded by the velvety softness of the leaves and petals of the rainbow assortment of flowers. 

When she rested down next to him, and certainly when Maleficent sat there at his side to watch over them, he knew that there was nowhere else he would rather be. 

The faerie’s warm hand slid into his. She leaned down to kiss both their heads and covered them protectively with a wing. Aurora had witnessed the joined hands of her parents and she smiled through her drying tears, looking at them with such love that it felt to radiate through the entire grove.

“I missed you, too. I’m so glad you’re back,” she said with a smile, resting her head down on Diaval’s shoulder. 

“I pinky-promised I’d be here, didn’t I? Can’t go back on one of those. Would’ve had years of bad luck. No witch was gonna keep me from comin’ home.”

There was a brief pause, wherein Aurora gnawed on her lower lip in thought, likely wanting to ask questions but thinking better of it. She glanced up at Maleficent as if in search for answers, but the faerie was granting them a moment of privacy by looking away. She, too, appeared thoughtful, though not in a way that necessarily suggested good things. 

“Is she gone?” Aurora continued quietly. 

Diaval replied somewhat flatly, “She’s gone. You don’t have to worry about her anymore.” He took her hand into his an gratefully held it. “Listen, thanks for getting that message to King John. They’d still be waitin’ for shelter without you, I think.”

“All I did was request Ulstead’s aid. Wickpon would still be dying if not for you.”

Diaval didn’t respond to that. Aurora continued, 

“Whatever you need … tell me. I’ll make it happen for you. I swear.”

“I have everythin’ I need already, diamond. Right here. You and your mother.” With a smile, he held their hands close to his heart, feeling as though he were the luckiest raven in all the world. What else could he have possibly needed? They had their happy ending, and it was finally time to end the nightmarish chapters they had endured. It was time to close the book and forget about it all.

Aurora, though still starry-eyed with tears, looked very pleased - and why shouldn’t she? Her kingdom was spared the onslaught of cruel Winter, and as for her parents … well, it was a long time coming, but it was better late than never. With her head resting on her father’s shoulder, she smiled to herself, watching them both with a warm adoration.

Maleficent was invited in to the moment by that smile and shared something of a knowing look with her daughter. Her eyes were golden and full of love, and she did not try to conceal it. She did not fear it. She allowed that love to bathe them in her magical glow, and it felt for all the world as though nothing bad could happen to them ever again.

Diaval ended up falling asleep there in that royal bed of flowers, surrounded by the people and place that he loved.

* * *

It was not as easy to forget as he might have thought.

One night, he awoke with a start for perhaps the fourth time. His heart pounded with an inexplicable but intense fear that doused him with cold sweat.

Diaval had tried to push it all out of his mind many times, but it turned out things were rather more complicated than that. For all he tried to push away unwelcome thoughts and memories, something would only serve to remind him of them later, or they would simply pop up again, unbidden. It was at its worst at night when trying to sleep; difficult as it was to hide things from Maleficent, it was made worse by the fact they slept next to each other in their nest and he could not hide anything from her at all when it was there so plain on his face.

Hearing her shift, he felt an immense shame at having woken her again. It was the same way nearly every night. At its worst, he would shapeshift in his sleep and cause a din upon waking, clawing at the nest or snarling at something that wasn’t there. On the quieter nights, he still seemed able to wake her with the smallest of gasps, as though she was somehow tuned in to his consciousness and the panic that flooded him for no reason at all. Far too often, they would both go about their mornings tired and irritable from a terrible night’s sleep.

It was strange - he had always been the one to advise and offer consolation. When it came to himself, he had no idea what to suggest. Feeling so awful about one thing somehow made him feel awful about nearly every facet of his being. Things that had never made him feel nervous before now terrified him. He was remarkably short-fused, paranoid, and even self-conscious in ways he had never considered possible, and wished dearly he could go back to a time where he’d had no reason to understand such things, let alone feel them.

Most of all, he felt vulnerable. It was not a good thing to feel, especially now that he had a mate in the truest sense. There was a particular kind of person that Maleficent deserved and he did not feel as though he met any of the requirements. Not yet, at least. He was not being strong about the situation at all. He was just fearful. All the more … that he had not so much as kissed her since returning to the Moors made him feel even worse. 

He had to do something before she thought that he didn’t want her, or thought him entirely inept. The truth, however, ran deep enough that even he didn’t know what kept him from acting on impulses that yapped in his thoughts like small dogs. Perhaps it was that Diaval had never expected to be on equal footing with Maleficent, the one his heart had been set on since his creation. 

Perhaps it was something to do with Wynne.

After a minute of tossing and turning, he rolled up and out of the nest as quietly as he could and crept out of the cave. The Autumnal chill of the air did not come as much of a comfort, though the familiar view of the surrounding wilds did, somewhat. Their nest was situated in the mountains that overlooked the River of Stars, which could be heard roaring through the valley below, lit by the glittering night sky. 

Diaval sat down on the rocks and covered his ears when it suddenly felt as though the water of that river was rushing into his head, so cold that it was like being pierced by a million needles all at once. When the phantom sensation failed to pass, he scrubbed his fingers agitatedly across his scalp to try and focus on a feeling that was actually real.

“Stop.” Something caught his wrists.

The warmth of a blanket was draped over his shoulders and pulled snugly around him. Safely swaddled, Diaval looked up and found Maleficent there beside him, her eyes brighter than any star in the sky. The sound of the river died back down into the distance in wake of her calming presence, though cold continued to prickle across his skin, a frigid frost claiming him as its prisoner.

He quickly stood, offering a smile in an attempt to deflect her concern, and kept the blanket held tightly around his nude form

“Sorry, it was just -“

Interrupted by Maleficent holding up her hand, he fell into silence and warily watched her, gulping. 

“We need to talk,” the faerie announced, quickly succeeding in putting the fear of the gods in the raven, who stared at her with wide eyes.

_ Be rational,  _ Diaval reminded himself. It had been a particular trait of his to be calm and collected in any given situation. For over twenty years he had served as a voice of reason. Now, however, as his thoughts went spiralling in panic, he did not feel like that person. Maybe he wasn’t the same person that Maleficent had fallen for, and maybe she had realised it. 

“I’m sorry, Mis-“ Wincing furiously at his mishap, he gritted his teeth and took a nervous step back. “Maleficent. I don’t mean to keep you awake.”

Her head tilted. “Do you think I’m angry at you, Diaval?”

“I - I don’t know. Are you?”

“No.” Maleficent reached forth and touched an elegant hand to his arm, stroking down its length. “I’m not the one that’s angry at you.”

“Oh.” Diaval thought a moment, taken aback. “Then who is?”

She gazed at him a second longer, a sort of taut sympathy in her features. Turning towards the river, she clasped her hands at her front and gazed out into the wilds, the starlight brightening her melancholy eyes.

“When Stefan sawed off my wings and left me alone in the forest, do you know who I blamed the most for what he did? I blamed myself.”

“But it wasn’t your fault,” Diaval said quickly, devastated.

“No,” the faerie agreed. “It wasn’t, but I could not help but think about all the times in the past when I could have stopped him. Oh, if only I had woken up, if only I had taken notice of his growing greed and severed our relationship before he even had a chance to take my wings from me. If only I had done something to stop him, then it would never have happened. I hated myself for his selfishness, and for being foolish enough to have loved him. I know now that I was not responsible for his wickedness.” Her head bowed slightly, and then she looked at Diaval with resoluteness. “I have seen your anger. I see your dreams and the person targeted by your frustration. It is not her. It’s you.”

Stunned by the clarity amidst a storm of confusion, Diaval was reluctant to emerge. His mind fell oddly blank. In response to her claim, he dully tried to conjure up some sort of nonchalant joke to counter it with, but the biggest joke of all was that she was right. The memory of Wynne was not his truest enemy, not yet. What grated him to his core was remembering his actions in that awful situation. 

“I didn’t …” he attempted, then stopped. Shame and embarrassment made him pull his blanket shield taut around him, and he shuffled his feet agitatedly. To his horror, moisture welled in his eyes in response to the cold truth. How could he let himself be this way in front of Maleficent? “It’s - it’s funny. It’s funny. I can shapeshift on my own, now, but couldn’t when I really needed it. It’s funny, but … No, there were times that I could’ve hurt her, maybe even - the spear was right there on the river but I didn’t do it, I couldn’t. If I had failed, how many more might’ve died ‘cause of me?”

The words did not want to be spoken. They caught in his throat in pained rasps. It was, however, something of a relief for them to be falling free out of the tight prison of his mind. Once they started, they could not stop, and he felt increasingly vulnerable with each truth as it came, forced to acknowledge the reality of it all. He continued:

“A-and … when she - in the nest, I tried to fight her, I really tried. Then I just gave up. You see it all the time out there in the wild. It’s thoughtless and sometimes vicious, y’see. I thought it was - I couldn’t fight, I thought maybe she had a right to it. I didn’t understand. Is that what it’s meant to be like?”

Maleficent’s expression was carefully poised, but unshed tears shone in her pained eyes. Slowly, she shook her head.

“No,” the faerie murmured. “It isn’t.”

Diaval flushed an angry red. Running a rough hand back through his hair, he glanced away, so furious and ashamed that it was sickening. 

“And … I didn’t want it, but parts of it felt good. How could somethin’ like that’ve … This stupid shape betrayed me. Betrayed you. I don’t understand.”

“That’s the part she used to get what she wanted. The rest of it …” Green magic flickered at the tips of her fingers, then. “I want nothing more than to pull her soul from the Otherworld and tear it apart for what she did. That is part of the attack - making you feel as though it was your fault, that maybe you did want it all along. You didn’t. I swear to you that you hold no blame for her actions. It was only her. And that you could not bring yourself to grant her the pain she deserved is not a weakness, Diaval. It is a testament to your kind, good heart, that which I love and will love for an eternity.”

Diaval could not speak his relief, though momentarily sagged with it. He had thought, however foolishly, that Maleficent might have been having second thoughts about the latest development in their relationship. He’d had no real reason to believe it and felt silly for having jumped to such a conclusion. Silently considering her words and the answers to his questions, he bowed his head in a small gesture of gratitude. 

The things he could have done differently, however, would not cease to haunt him.

“Do you remember those nights after we met?” Maleficent continued, her poise pacific there on the edge of their nest. The wind caught at her dark, silken slip, and buffeted through her wings. Diaval could not help but admire her, though shyly, still ridden with shame following his confession. “Do you remember? My sleep was plagued with foul dreams: all the things that had happened, all the terrible things that I wanted to do. Every night, you were there watching over me. You walked with me when I did not have wings to fly.” The faerie’s hand extended towards his. “You fought the battles of others for so long that I fear you are lost when faced with your own. I am with you, Diaval. The Moors are with you. Do not forget it.”

It was then that Diaval’s admiration turned to sheer need. Overcome with emotion, he took her outstretched hand and closed the distance between them, opening the safe cocoon of his blanket to embrace her with all the love and tenderness in the world. She seemed surprised by the gesture, though relaxed into his hold and slid her hands up to his shoulders. 

“I love you,” he breathed against her temple, something desperate in the clench of his fingers at her back. “I love you, Maleficent. I hope you realise what you’ve done. You’re stuck with me, now. And you can’t turn me into a bird when I tell you for the thousandth time in a day that I love you. I’ll just turn right back.”

The faerie sighed delicately. “If you don’t use your power to annoy me as much as possible, I would question whether it is really you in there.”

“And when I’m tellin’ you something you don’t like, I can just transform right back.“

“I would expect nothing less.”

“Did you miss the gossip while I was gone? Or did you go and do all the spying yourself?”

“I would do no such thing,” Maleficent replied with a hint of mischief.

Aware that she was not the most comfortable of individuals with prolonged affection, Diaval let her go. However, she took his hand again and led him out of the cold and back into the cave that housed their nest.

It was a dark but cosy place. Warm and dry and filled with a few creature comforts. Maleficent lit some of the candles dotted around the uneven walls, bathing their home in a soft, golden light. The flames flickered beautifully in her eyes and her skin glowed as if was emitting a light of her very own. Such was the nature of the fae, the most beautiful and spellbinding of magical creatures. Such was the nature of Maleficent. 

Looking over her shoulder at him, she wordlessly invited him back into the nest, guiding him over the edge and to the comfortable cluster of blankets and silk cushions at its centre. There, they sat together, their hands still joined and gently playing, watching each other in the candlelight with an innocent uncertainty, unspoken words in their glances. 

Diaval’s heart still pounded fervently, not only from panic inspired by his dreams, now, but from a newer kind of nervousness, the sort that turned his mouth dry and his legs to jelly. Glad he was no longer stood up, he took a few deep, unsteady breaths to try and calm himself, and Maleficent watched him with a flicker of amusement, her gaze roving about his face. 

Her kiss was like a feather’s caress. It did not stop at his lips, trailing softly down the scar-like markings on his neck. Diaval had never felt anything like it in his life. To top it off, she did the thing he liked at the back of his neck - her claws scraped lightly across the skin there, and a wave of pleasure made him hunch up his shoulders in a shudder. 

“Nghh. Maleficent.”

She smiled, continuing to torture him by running the tips of her claws slowly down the length of his spine. 

“Maleficent,” Diaval bleated weakly again. Any more and he would be as soft as clay in her hands, bent and moulded as she wished. What more could he ask for?

Her touch was soft. She did nothing but make him feel things he was sure he had never felt before. And yet, when he closed his eyes in readiness to succumb to what she was giving, the threat of claws and teeth and strength became too great. Startled by the sudden discomfort, he froze, and Maleficent was quick to pull her hands from him.

“Was it too much?” She asked, though did not look as surprised as Diaval felt. 

Taking a moment, he shook his head. It was just a moment of foolishness. Maleficent had reassured him, hadn’t she? He knew her. He trusted her. That he had feared again the threat of Wynne’s talons and teeth seemed an insult to Maleficent herself, who he knew would not hurt him. Frustrated, he allowed a newfound determination to take hold and he hooked a hand beneath his mate’s knee in order to lift her thigh up onto his waist, inviting her plainly onto his lap.

“I think I’ll die if you stop,” he murmured into her shoulder as soon as she willingly seated herself upon him. “It’s all right. I’ve wanted to be close to you for so long, you have no idea. I want to worship every inch of you if you’ll let me. I’m not lyin’, I’ll really do it.”

A blush rose to the faerie’s high cheekbones. A rare occurrence, to be sure. The confession seemed to make her nervous. With a flicker of anger, Diaval wondered whether Stefan had ever actually lavished Maleficent with the sincere love and affection that she deserved. How often had he abused her giving heart before taking her wings? And there were humans that still dared call her the wicked one. 

Diaval would give back everything Stefan had taken. He was determined. Maleficent had saved his life more than once, and so he would do anything, everything it took to make her happy, give her everything that she wanted in the world. Nobody would take her wings or her treasures ever again, not while Diaval was there to pounce before they could even get close. 

“Are you certain?” She said, nervous again, as though a part of her doubted whether he really wanted what she had to give. Shifting in his lap, she framed his hips with her thighs and held his face in her hands, gazing so fiercely at him that Diaval’s heart skipped a beat. “I should let you rest, but I can’t deny that this look to your eyes thrills me.”

He would promise her the Moon if it made her happy. He would do anything. Such a desire, however, soon came at odds with something within him that was unwelcome. Something that felt horribly like cold fear. He did his utmost to force it out of his mind and focus on everything in front of him, that wonderful landscape of glowing, soft skin, gently parted red lips. He pulled her down and kissed her with a ferocity he had never thought possible. She responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his back to keep him close.

The sounds she made were exquisite, but short-lived. No sooner had they succumbed, a strange, dark wind ghosted into the cave and shook the candlelight, bringing a strange sensation of unease in its wake. Some feathers and leaves lining the nest fluttered up into the chill that arose. Maleficent pulled back a little and watched them swirl about in a vortex, at once recognising the odd flurry of magic.

“Is that you?” She asked aloud, then thankfully moved off Diaval’s lap at the lack of response. 

Diaval was frozen, every muscle in his body tensed to try and fight the transformation threatening to take hold. Rolling forward onto his hands and knees, he hit the floor of the nest in frustration and snarled through his sharpening teeth. He shook his head, refusing to fall prey to the will of a power that was supposed to be his to command, but no matter how hard he tried, no matter how he wished to be close to Maleficent, the spell was greater than his own strength. 

Regardless, he was determined to show her that he could control it. It wasn’t going to be a  _ problem _ . 

The more he fought it, the more uncomfortable the shifting became. It was with sickening realisation that this was exactly what Wynne had done to him for rejecting her, time and time again. Mindless and cruel transformations until he couldn’t bear it anymore and rolled over like a dog.

He snarled viciously when his hold broke and the transformation finished. Pushing himself up onto his hands - paws - he stared in affront at the horrid wolf-shape that had forced itself upon him. With a whine, he looked up at Maleficent and found her gazing at him in horror from behind her wing, either the shapeshifting or the form itself serving to frighten even her.

Distraught, Diaval crept out of the nest with his tail between his legs and dropped down onto his side on the cold stone, whining miserably. It wasn’t how things were supposed to be! It wasn’t fair. Wynne was gone and yet her presence lingered still wherever he went; in the wind, the moonlight, the shadows of the trees, controlling his shape with her terrible power. It couldn’t have really been her, could it? 

He had only seen her fall. Perhaps he had heard her landing into the sea. It didn’t mean anything.

What it her punishing him for what he had done? Could she not let him rest for even a moment? Could he not have the love that Maleficent felt free enough to give? Could he never make his own mate happy again?

Hearing Maleficent shift at last, he tried to transform back but found himself once again locked in a body he had not chosen. She arrived at his side with a blanket for him and a pillow for herself, and she lowered down behind him to curl up around his large, dark frame, resting her head against the feathery ruff at his neck. Slowly, she rubbed a hand up and down his side underneath the blanket, and through his raging frustration, he was indescribably grateful for her presence. 

“It’s all right,” she promised him firmly, tucking herself underneath the blanket alongside him. “I’m with you, Diaval. There is nothing in this world that I will let hurt you.”

The candlelight flickered again, this time into darkness.

* * *

A week or so following the return of Maleficent and Diaval to the Moors, the faerie returned to her duties as Guardian. In her absence, Diaval was left to potter around with nothing much to do except cause trouble. He hung around the two forests that flanked the Woodland Castle - the Forest of Dreams and the Forest of Waking, usually getting up to mischief with the sprites. 

The castle itself was unusually quiet regarding him. Before, his presence was often requested by Aurora so that she might seek his advice or simply his company, but it had been days since he had seen her last, and even then she was too busy to talk long. It seemed there was more work involved with welcoming flocks of fae onto the mainland than he really understood. There was a time he would have flown into court uninvited and cawed his opinions on things from the trees, but now he felt even more out of place than he had those weeks ago when his biggest problem had been how Maleficent and Aurora saw him.

Alone and cooking chestnuts in the hair of a sleeping fire sprite, he sighed deeply there on that scorched tree branch. Mushroom fairies watched him from higher atop the trees, communicating via fungal spores that made Diaval sneeze - albeit quietly, given the fire sprite sleeping peacefully beneath him. 

His sharp ears picked up on a familiar babbling emerging from the trees. Glancing up, he saw Pinto porcupine fairy stumble out from between the oak trees, her large eyes searching this way and that. Upon spotting him up in the tree, she did a triumphant little dance and hollered him down with a series of calls. 

As soon as his feet touched ground, Pinto charged up to him and opened her paws in the direction of the roasted chestnut. Despite the creature’s mischievous nature, she was the sort that was difficult to resist simply for the fact that many considered her unreasonably adorable. Diaval sighed again and dropped the chestnut into her waiting hands. After gobbling it messily down, she smiled up at him and swayed happily. 

“Brrrto Diadoot,” she greeted, then pointed through the trees in the vague direction of the castle. “Yippi majestoo pop brrr  _ brroop _ . Pop pop!”

“Of course I’ll see Aurora. Did you say there are people at the castle? Strangers?”

Pinto nodded seriously. “Oo Malecadoot!”

“Why are Maleficent and the Queen with strangers? Are they all right?”

Pinto nodded again, more vigorously this time, then pointed insistently towards the trees.

“Diadoot brrrdoo!”

They both turned slowly towards the fire sprite, who was disturbed by the conversation. The creature rolled over and awoke, only for a bundle of charred twigs to fall out of its burning hair into its coal-like black eyes.

“Definitely time to go,” said Diaval, just as the sprite screeched in irritation. “Hold onto me claws, Pinto.”

With that, he transformed into his raven-shape and picked up the porcupine fairy by her waiting paws before flying off up above the Forest of Dreams. Up there in the clear skies, he expertly dodged a few fireballs flung his way, heaving a joyful Pinto along. She swung back and forth from his feet and giggled raucously while they soared over the colourful, sleepy woods towards the lake that housed the Woodland Castle on its largest island. 

It was a beautiful Autumn day. Water fairies dived about the lake and watched them go, waving. Fairies of all other kinds milled about the castle. Spying the queenly gait of Maleficent stood on the edge of the island, Diaval quickly soared down, elated to see her, and mistimed his transformation in his eagerness. Both him and Pinto crash landed and rolled somewhere near Maleficent’s feet. 

Diaval quickly sat up and found the faerie watching him with an elegantly arched eyebrow. 

“What mischief have you two been busying yourselves with?” She asked, though did not sound particularly stern. 

Standing, Diaval brushed himself off and moved over to her to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. At their feet, Pinto giggled and skipped off towards the trail that led to the court. 

“It’s good to see you, too.” Casting a quick glance over Maleficent’s smart black dress adorned with raven skulls, his brow furrowed. “What’s the occasion? Did someone throw a party and not invite old Diaval?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I always dress like this.”

“No, you don’t. Not anymore.” With a loose shrug, he relented and smiled at her. “You look beautiful. How’s work, then?”

“Exceedingly dull. I would ask you to join me on my next patrol, but I think our dear Queen has something else in mind.”

Maleficent drifted away from the water’s edge and towards the stone trail. Ahead, fairies were climbing or flying over the grassy hill towards the trees and crumbling stone walls of the open castle, and Diaval just could not figure out why there would be a gathering there of all days.

“Be honest with me, now. Have I forgotten a birthday?” He asked, jogging to catch up with her. His eyes widened in alarm. “Not Aurora’s birthday! I thought that was in the Summer!”

“Yes, two months ago,” Maleficent reminded him dryly, then took his arm. “It is no one’s birthday. Come, now. We have guests, and Aurora would like for you to be there today.”

Aurora’s request was reason enough for him to go to the castle without question. He could not help but wonder why Maleficent was dancing around his curiosity, however, and why she seemed so strangely pleased about something. It wasn’t like her to be pleased about much at all.

As they approached the trees that guarded the court, she pulled him aside and gave him a sharp once over, shaking her head. 

“For goodness sake,” she muttered, and waved a hand to magically clear numerous smudges of dirt across his skin. She waved her hand again, this time sending a torrent of golden magic circling his form. Once the glittering spell disappeared, Diaval’s old, rugged attire was gone, now replaced with something much smarter and court-ready: an elaborate silver pauldron adorned his shoulder, crowning a dark mantle of raven feathers and a cape. The clothes themselves were more stately than he was used to. He wore a black, form-fitting doublet embroidered with silver, and dark trousers that disappeared into shiny black boots.

He glanced down at himself, eyebrows raised.

“This is the fanciest thing I’ve ever worn.”

“Yes. Now you look a father to the Queen,” Maleficent said, combing her fingers through his hair to try and get it to look somewhat presentable. Once satisfied, she briefly touched at his cheek and looked him over again, this time with a sort of coy appreciation. “And very handsome.”

“You’re butterin’ me up. What’s going on? It feels like we’re going to visit the in-laws again.”

“No. People have come here to visit you, Diaval, and it’s somewhat important that you wear a respectable attire in their presence. It’s strange, but I suppose it’s the way things are done. You are aware of your station, aren’t you?”

“My station?” He said cluelessly. “Up until recently, it was ‘servant’.”

“You’re part of the Moors’ governing family. That’s how human kingdoms see us with their small-minded ways. You’re father to the Queen and consort to the Guardian of the Moors. If I ever see you addressing human royalty in clothes that you borrowed from a scarecrow …” 

“Consort?” Diaval repeated weakly. “Who’s waiting up there, exactly? Are you nervous?”

There was no response, as expected. Maleficent turned and headed for the trees. It was strange that she seemed eager to please whoever the strangers were; it wasn’t like she really cared what a few individual humans thought about her. Diaval suspected that she was doing it for Aurora’s sake more than anything else, respecting their daughter’s humanity and royal position among them. He was more than happy to do whatever it took to keep Aurora’s title a respected one among the kingdoms.

Catching up with the faerie, he took her arm, and together they walked into the Woodland Court. Diaval realised only then that it was the first time he had been there since arriving back home.

There were crowds of fairies present, creatures of every kind. They filled the spaces between the trees and the water of the streams, they occupied every flower bud and branch. Others flew about the air, chattering excitedly in their musical languages. 

By the throne, Knotgrass and Thistlewit flanked a smiling Aurora, who wore her golden crown of leaves and a dress of violet petals. Pinto babbled gleefully at her feet. Prince Phillip was there, too, stood at the grassy dais.

And there, at the centre of the court, were the supposed strangers: King John, Queen Mera, Merin, and even the little queen that led the frost fairies of Wickpon’s forests. Borra, Udo, and Shrike were stood among the watching forest fae, though they emerged at Maleficent’s presence.

By that point, Diaval was half hidden behind Maleficent’s shoulder, so surprised by the presence of certain individuals that he had a moment of disassociation. He had never expected to see many of them again, let alone there in the Moors, where they smiled at him like parents that had just watched their only child win a foot race.

Speechless, he had no choice but to let Maleficent guide him down into the court, and he spent a few more moments staring with genuine perplexity. At his approach, Aurora waddled down from her throne, too, and smiled up at him with what could only be described as pride.

Diaval gulped and slowly took in the hundreds of pairs of eyes looking at him. He pointed at himself.

“Is it  _ my _ birthday?”

He could almost hear the roll of Maleficent’s eyes behind him. Aurora just laughed brightly and brought him before the visitors, and he awkwardly regarded them a moment before remembering his manners. He sank to one knee in a gesture of respect and offered them one of his best smiles, even if he still had no idea what was going on.

“Up on your feet, dear,” said Queen Mera, looking grander than he had known her. Her royal attire was the charcoal grey of mountains, and her iron crown sat upon her flyaway curls. She still wore her barkeeper’s apron over her dress. “We’re here to pay our respects, not the other way around.”

Even more confused, Diaval got back to his feet and glanced back at Maleficent for clarity, but she only offered a small smile. He turned to the others again.

“Tip top job,” put in King John, who beamed from ear to ear. “I heard the stories. Just wonderful, isn’t it? Ulstead and the Moors now share a deep friendship with Wickpon that shall last for, well … centuries, I should hope! For our new allegiance and the safety of our people, I thank you, Diaval. As a token of Ulstead’s gratitude, all ravens in our kingdom are now protected by law.”

Stunned, all Diaval could do was nod in response and hope he did not appear ungrateful. 

“Your sacrifice took the storms from our skies and the threat of deadly Winter from our homeland,” Merin followed, inclining her horned head. “The Dark Fae can once again resume their migration across the world. For our future, Diaval, we thank you. You hold an esteemed seat among the unkindness that guard the ancestral woods of the forest fae. If ever you need the wisdom of an old faerie, boy, you need only fly there to visit me.”

Diaval nodded again, still speechless in the wake of such generosity. 

It was Mera’s turn, then. There were tears in her eyes, and the great, wet orbs began to flood her cheeks. With an almighty sniff, she quickly rubbed the tears away and bustled forwards to ensnare Diaval in a bone-crunching hug, near enough lifting him off the ground despite his greater height. Just as the man was on the verge of suffocation, he was finally released, but Mera held on to his shoulders and gazed up at him with such gratitude that Diaval did not know where to look.

“I really thought you were a goner back there,” she admitted. “Poor thing. And then you crawled out of the river as a dragon and caught that wretched witch right in your claws! I’ll never forget that for as long as I live! It still feels like a dream, doesn’t it?” At his silence, she drew him into another hug, this time with all the fond gentleness of a mother. “You saved my kingdom. I’m so glad that you are here to enjoy the rest of your life in this beautiful kingdom. Your bravery will never be forgotten, Diaval. I don’t have much to repay you with.” Letting him go, she reached into the pocket of her apron and produced a glass bottle, which she pressed eagerly into his hands. “Mulberry gin. Your favourite.”

“Oh,” Diaval rasped in a strange surge of emotion. “Yeah. Best kind of poison there is.”

“Do come back to Wickpon one day, won’t you? Those cold streets will be bustling with life again in no time. Come and see the lights in the sky with your dear ones.”

Leaning in, she planted a wet kiss right on his forehead. The frost fairy queen fluttered forth and balanced on Mera’s shoulder to copy her, placing a chilly little kiss there that left a spot of frost on his skin. The two of them drew back, beaming. 

“He’ll be back,” said Aurora. She, too, seemed affected by the words spoken, her bright eyes glittering with tears. She carried them proudly, moving to stand before her father with a smile and a rosy flush to her cheeks. Butterflies fluttered around her. She was aglow, happy and healthy and beautiful.

“Don’t cry,” Diaval warned her quietly. “You’ll set me off. Did you arrange all this?”

“I arranged a little something, but they all wanted to be here to see it.”

The Queen looked over at the pixies by the throne, who stared cluelessly back at her until apparently remembering that they had a task to do.

“Oh! Yes! Of course!” Cried Knotgrass, and she tugged on Thistlewit’s hair. “Wake up! Where’s the thingy?”

“Oh! It’s right here!” Thistlewit flew off into the trees and emerged not a moment later carrying some sort of dark garment in her little hands. Knotgrass quickly took the other end of it, and together they flew over to lay the garment in Aurora’s outstretched hand. 

It looked to be made of thick, black silk, though shone with blue-green iridescence. It bore the very same silver embroidery that currently lined his doublet, the shapes forming glittering flowers and birds and even little fairies. Though Diaval could not help but admire it, he had no idea what it was or what it was for. 

The answer came when Aurora lifted the garment over his head and placed it over his shoulder. It was a sash that fitted him comfortably, falling down to his waist where she tied it closed with its silver strings. 

“You’ve always been of great service to the Moors,” she said, taking a step back to admire the sash upon him. “Brave and loyal raven. Your advice has been invaluable and your kindness exemplary. You are sensible and dependable. I can think of no one better to be Royal Envoy of the Moors than you, if you feel up to the task.” She smiled tearfully. “Dear father.”

Absolutely stunned, Diaval looked down at the sash and felt along its beautiful embroidery. It was no doubt made by the fairies themselves. Traces of magic tingled beneath his fingers as he felt his way along it right up to the crest he had not noticed before. It was Aurora’s crest, a rose blooming from a crown, and it was now flanked by a raven and a faerie, their wings shielding the rose from harm. 

She had honoured her adoptive parents on the symbol that represented her. And she had now granted him the great honour of being her official representative in other kingdoms, his new prowess as a shapeshifter no doubt becoming of enormous use in such a regard. She really trusted him to travel in her stead and maintain relations with others, perhaps even to forge new bonds when the time came.

Diaval had outgrown his servant wings. 

He was Royal Envoy. The Moors, Ulstead, and Wickpon were set to head into a prosperous union of friendship. The strange little family that Aurora, Maleficent, and Diaval composed was set to expand any one of these days. He was proud mate to Maleficent and father of their wonderful daughter. Not too long ago at all, it had seemed as though all of those things were lost. 

They were not lost. At long last, Diaval had found his place among family and friends. 

Overwhelmed, he moved forwards and carefully embraced Aurora, finding the adoring smiles of all the Moors and their allies behind her. 

“Of course I’ll be your envoy,” he said for all to hear. “I’d fly to the ends of the earth for you.”

Closing his eyes to the sound of rapturous applause, Diaval laughed in delight alongside his daughter. Upon feeling the familiar weight of a hand on his back, he eagerly pulled Maleficent into the embrace, too, much to her chagrin, but she made no effort to remove herself from it. When he looked at her, she too was laughing, her smile brighter than even the Sun. 

And so the faerie, the raven, and their human daughter celebrated their reunion within the comfort of a home that they had all once feared they would never have. They celebrated the love that they had almost lived lives without. 

For a long time after that, it felt as though the Sun would never stop shining down upon them. 

But her brother, the Moon, was always waiting in the darkness of night. 


	11. Epilogue: Something New Begins

“If you complain one more time, I’ll sew your lips shut, you ingrate.”

Diaval restrained a groan. Though he was grateful for the traditional garments the forest fae had made for him, he had never worn anything so itchy in his entire life. 

The ensemble was a long, dark kilt of a coarse material that reached his ankles. His upper half was mostly exposed save for a decorative piece across his shoulders covered in the feathers of the unkindness that had welcomed him in. Sat there on a tree stump and scratching his legs, he impatiently waited for Merin to finish painting over his skin with a paint of lampblack pigment.

The symbols she drew there were mostly swirls and rings. It was nothing that he recognised, but things that apparently held significance for the forest fae and their raven companions. She drew them across his chest and back, taking care not to cover the raised markings already etched on his skin. Finally, she reached his face and painted a black strip across his eyes that vaguely resembled wings, and they came to a point on his nose in the semblance of a beak. After a few more dots and swirls, she put down the pot and faced him dead on, her forest-green eyes looking him over like an artist might regard their finished work in search of flaws. 

“Hm. You’ll do,” she uttered, then patted him on the arm in a silent demand for him to get up. 

He did so, moving to a nearby pond to admire his reflection on its surface, turning this way and that. Now that the look had all come together, he didn’t mind it so much. There was a sort of windswept look about him which he preferred to the confusing necessity for tidiness in the presence of humans. That day, the humans attending the ceremony would have to adhere to the Dark Fae ways, instead.

Some of the ravens were flitting about and watching with interest. Throughout the dressing, they would land on Merin’s shoulders and offer their opinions in the form of croaks and caws. It seemed that they, too, were finally pleased with how he looked following their guidance, and they took off into the forest once their work was done, perhaps in preparation to attend the ceremony themselves. 

“Thank you,” Diaval said to Merin, turning to face her. “I don’t think I would have had a clue what to wear.”

“Of course not. You’re a bird,” the elder was kind enough to remind him. After a moment’s thought, she tugged one of her silver armbands off and held it out to him. “You can wear this if you like. My mate wore it for our handfasting, rest his soul. I gave Maleficent my one.”

Taking the old ornament, Diaval slid it onto his forearm at once. It was a simple, heavy thing, but of clear significance to the leader of the forest fae. He had grown rather fond of her and their unkindness over the past year. In turn, the elder had agreed to prepare him for the handfasting and to even be the one to complete the ceremony.

Merin’s wizened features softened for the first time that day. With an almost fond sort of sigh, she clasped her hands together and regarded him with what might have been a smile. 

“Is everything to your liking? How is the setting?”

“It’s home. It’s perfect.”

Where else would they have chosen other than the Moors? Maleficent and Diaval had flown together to find the perfect spot, and they eventually found it in Godsong Grove, a place of stunning beauty on the other side of the River of Stars. Their nest even overlooked it. There in that ancient grove was the ruins of a cathedral to nature by the riverside, near swallowed by tall and mysterious trees. The lustrous grass was adorned with flowers of all kinds. Not only was the place beautiful, it was also remarkably quiet and peaceful.

“Good. You must take your place, now. Are you ready, Diaval?”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. He was probably the first of his kind to ever be handfasted to someone, and that someone was the ferocious, remarkable faerie that he loved. However, there really was nothing that he wanted more than to seal their bond in the eyes of her people and the old ways of the Moors. Handfasting was, of course, the Moorfolk equivalent to what humans called marriage, albeit far less conservative, generally speaking. It was a tradition that had survived millennia. One that was rarely practiced, apparently, for fae lived long lives and it wasn’t often a pair were ready to dedicate themselves to each other for so long.

But Maleficent and Diaval were ready. They had talked about it at length. Neither of them even had the capacity to consider anybody else in the way they regarded each other. If they were ever parted, that was how it would stay. They had known each other, endured storms and survived things that, in the end, had formed an unbreakable bond. It was true love, the sort that broke curses and brought the dead back to life. It was time to see that bond solidified in the sights of nature.

Diaval could only pray that he would not be subject to his sometimes unpredictable shapeshifting. The power was one he still had not mastered, seemingly linked to his emotions and other things that he could not control.

Led away by Merin, Diaval emerged into the quiet Godsong Grove. All familiar faces were there, forming a circle in the middle of the massive ruins of the cathedral. Fairies in their thousands flew about to watch. The leaders of the Dark Fae were among the circle, as were King John and Queen Mera. Prince Phillip and Queen Aurora stood together at the very front of the ring, holding their year old son, Prince Riordan. The young, fair-haired boy was happy to be there surrounded by so many pretty things, and he gurgled with familiarity when Diaval entered the middle of the circle.

Not one person was dressed for court. They all wore simple attire steeped in nature. Aurora took particular joy in that, dressed in a simple white gown of daisies and adorned with her usual entourage of butterflies. She smiled broadly at Diaval’s approach and bowed her head, followed suit by her husband.

“Just wait until you see her,” the Queen hinted.

Music was provided by the forest fae, who played gently on harps and woodwind pipes. Merin and Diaval arranged themselves in the middle of the circle when the music started, and the latter squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what was coming. 

Soon enough, the circle parted to allow Maleficent through. 

The breath Diaval was holding was lost. 

She was nearly unrecognisable. The usual dark, thorny nature of her clothes was replaced with a simple, golden dress that trailed behind her in the grass. Her brown hair was loose and flowing over her bare shoulders, decorated with small, pretty flowers that were wound into thin braids. A dusting of gold adorned her cheeks, bringing to life the natural fire of her jewel-like eyes. In her hands, she carried a bouquet of bright reds, oranges, and yellows. 

Arriving into the circle with her head held high, she stood before Diaval and tucked her bouquet into the thin belt at her waist. 

He was struck with emotion seeing her there. Determined not to lose control, he attempted another deep breath, simply unable to look away from her. She was the most beautiful creature in the world, and when she smiled at him, it was like his heart stopped beating. It made him weak at the knees.

They both extended their hands forwards, Maleficent’s sliding gently atop his. With that, Merin produced a black, silk ribbon and wrapped it around their wrists until she could tie it into a neat bow atop their hands. There, they were joined before the eyes of the Moors and its guests at long last.

“May these trees bless you with long life and good fortune,” the elder announced, her hand open over the ribbon’s bow. “Diaval, will you take Maleficent as your lifelong mate? Will you love and protect her from harm for as long as you live?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. 

“Maleficent, will you take Diaval as your lifelong mate? Will you love and protect him from harm for as long as you live?”

“Yes,” Maleficent murmured with a smile.

“Here in the sights of the trees and the Sun are your souls intertwined, Diaval and Maleficent of the Moors. There is no power on this earth that can separate them.  _ Go n-éirí an t-ádh leat _ .”

Merin pulled apart the ribbon. From the pockets of her dress, she produced a ring in each hand. Taking the one closest to him, a piece of dark silver adorned with a single onyx stone, he eased it onto Maleficent’s finger with a shaking hand. Thankfully, the jewellery slid on without a hitch. 

The ring that Maleficent put on his finger in turn was a simple band of black gold. If one was to look close enough, they would see the light glitter of emerald green within its metal. 

Within the sunlight sparkling down upon them through the dark leaves of the trees, the pair embraced as butterflies swirled about them in celebration. The crowd was drawn into an appreciative applause (the whole affair was, in the eyes of the fairies, a long time coming), and the music came to a pretty crescendo. Aurora cheered the loudest of all the guests and went to them as soon as Merin signalled that the brief ritual was done, twirling joyfully about with her son in her hands. 

“I thought I’d never see the day!” She exclaimed, laughing. 

“You’ll never see another like it where we are concerned,” Maleficent assured her in a dry tone, bringing herself in to Diaval’s side. She still held his hand in hers, peering at him with the loveliest smile possible. 

Their union was graced with a kiss, then, right before their delighted daughter. The young queen thought a moment, and then her smile became strangely wry.

“Are you sure?” She asked without a trace of innocence. 

Maleficent and Diaval looked at each other, then back at her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she continued, then made to float off back towards her husband after sharing a clever little wink with her parents. “I thought I might see you at the christening.”

Diaval considered that statement for a good, long time.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere and ENORMOUS thank you to everyone who has been following this fic! I’ve never had such amazing support with a fic before! I can’t describe my gratitude. Thank you all so much for the kudos and the comments, and an extra special thank you to everyone who has left a comment for every chapter of this story. You guys seriously are the reason this thing met its end!
> 
> I would also like to thank Swankkat and Nightskyfoxyy for their amazing artwork inspired by this fic!! <3
> 
> The last couple of chapters will be going through a round of editing soon, I’m just too tired to do it at the moment! Apologies for any mistakes/misspellings/etc to be found in them! I’ll probably flesh out the epilogue a bit more, too.
> 
> If all goes well, The Treasure of Witches is not the end of this particular storyline. Keep your eyes peeled. Thank you all again so much!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Raven Cried](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21735976) by [swankkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swankkat/pseuds/swankkat)


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